Tenacity
by kci47
Summary: Professor Snape won't leave Hermione alone, even in death. But what can it mean? And to what lengths will Hermione go to save The Bravest Man They Ever Knew? Immediately post-DH, EWE, can't think of other disclaimers at the moment. **thanks to Gamma Orionis for the beautiful cover image!**
1. Aftermath

**Chapter 1: Aftermath**

It was early dawn on the day of Voldemort's final defeat, and Hermione realized she hadn't slept in three days. After helping to move Voldemort's body (Hermione felt it was her right to ensure that it was placed, unceremoniously, far away from the others), she grieved with the Weasleys. Eventually, she began to move around the Great Hall, quietly offering condolences and demurely accepting gratitude. She was quickly recruited by Madam Pomfrey to help with the administration of various healing potions, and it wasn't until Molly Weasley demanded that the poor girl be allowed to eat some dinner hours later that Hermione realized just how weary she was. The adrenaline had worn off at some point during her stint as assistant Healer, and now she was bone-deep tired. As she sat down to eat, she chanced to look up and see the Malfoys, sitting alone and looking nearly as exhausted as she felt. Taking pity, she slowly carried her dinner plate over to them and summoned more food from the kitchen elves. Lucius and Narcissa remained stiff and aloof, but Hermione suspected it was more from uncertainty than anything else. Draco, however, made an effort at civility by greeting her as 'Hermione,' which Hermione gladly reciprocated with a quiet, 'Draco.' She had barely taken two bites of food when Draco innocently asked her whether Professor Snape was helping brew the medicinal potions. All three Malfoys were startled when a wide-eyed Hermione leapt to her feet and ran off without a backward glance, yelling for an Auror and a Healer as she went.

She ran as fast as she could to the Whomping Willow, cursing herself for her forgetfulness. _How could we have left Professor Snape's body there?_ Unpleasant though he had been, he deserved better than to lie unnoticed and unmissed in the Shrieking Shack. Not bothering to check over her shoulder to see if anyone was following her, she fired off her Patronus with another demand for an Auror and a Healer. She shuddered, trying desperately to forget what she had seen the last time, as she entered the passage to the Shrieking Shack for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. As she drew closer to the Shack, though, the smell of death was unavoidable, and she stopped for a moment as she was violently sick. The cold walls of the underground passage felt good against her forehead, and she found that she was unable to force herself to walk the last few steps up into the room where Professor Snape was lying.

As she was berating herself for her weakness, Hermione jumped a foot in the air when someone's hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Sorry to startle you, Miss Granger, but you didn't seem to hear us calling your name," the unknown Auror said.

"That's perfectly alright. I just stopped to, ah..." Hermione glanced down, and the eyes of the other two wizards in the passageway followed suit. Swallowing thickly, Hermione conjured a glass of water, taking a deep drink and then splashing the rest on her face.

"You don't have to go any further, Miss Granger," the Healer said soothingly. "We can take it from here."

"No, I – I'll accompany you," she said. "I need to see it for myself."

Nodding their understanding, the two wizards moved past her to the stairway, climbing up and into the Shrieking Shack. Taking a cleansing breath, Hermione followed. It seemed only right that there be someone present to mourn the man, and besides, Hermione's curiosity was insatiable as always. Standing up in the shadowy room, she bit back a gasp at the sight in front of her. During the hours since they had watched Professor Snape die, more blood had seeped out of his battered body, and now the pool spread across nearly half the room. His face was so pale as to be translucent. Moving closer while gingerly avoiding the pool of blood, Hermione knelt at his head and brushed the hair out of his face, and considered the visage of the unpleasant Potions Master. His face seemed harsh, even in death. Stroking one cheek gently, she thought that no one deserved to die this way. It was entirely surreal, Hermione thought, to be so casually touching the face of someone who she would never have dared to touch had he been alive.

The Healer cleared his throat, and Hermione glanced up at him, startled. She had nearly forgotten there were others in the room.

"Miss Granger, we need to prepare the body, if you could please step away," he said, a note of apology in his voice.

Nodding, she stood and backed away until she reached the wall, leaning against it for support. The Auror was casting a number of detection charms while the Healer was reviewing a piece of parchment that had materialized in front of him, a frown blooming on his features. Murmuring something to the Auror, he indicated the parchment, and both men studied it intently. They were whispering to one another, apparently debating something. Hermione was too weary to wonder what was causing the delay. Finally, shrugging, the Auror began to help the Healer with Professor Snape's body. Hermione looked at the floor, not wishing to observe the proceedings, and tried not to be sickened by the expanse of glistening blood.

Her eyes glazed over with tears, and she fought to recall a few of the better moments of Professor Snape's life while they worked. There had been the way he'd patted her awkwardly on the shoulder when she'd woken from being Petrified, and the mostly concealed joy he seemingly derived when a student managed to brew a difficult potion, and, hmm, surely there had to be more? She thought hard, but all she could envision was the last time she'd seen him before they'd left Hogwarts: she and Luna had been guarding his office that night, and when he'd fled the room to head to the Astronomy Tower, his face had been stark with terror. At last, she knew why – he knew he'd been on his way to kill Dumbledore. Amazed at his strength and his ability to conceal his true intentions from everyone, Hermione's tears came faster. He deserved better than this, lying in a dusty room while two strangers prepared his body and his most insufferable know-it-all stood silently by. Finally, they were done, and the Healer levitated Professor Snape's body while the Auror quickly cleansed the room.

"If you're ready, Miss Granger?" the Auror asked, gesturing towards the trapdoor.

"Yes, of course," she answered. The Healer went first with Professor Snape's body, and tears threatened once more as Hermione remembered a similar situation occurring during her third year – but Professor Snape had merely been unconscious then. Lowering herself through the trapdoor, her eyes were nearly even with the dusty floor when she saw it: one lone black button lying forgotten near the edge of the wall. Scrambling out of the opening in the floor, Hermione grabbed it, not daring to look at the Auror as she did so. She would keep it as a reminder of Professor Snape's courage. Clambering back down into the passageway, she held her breath, but the Auror said nothing as he followed, slamming the trapdoor shut behind them.

They made for an odd procession as they traveled slowly back to the castle: the Healer, the Auror, a floating Professor Snape, and Hermione stumbling with exhaustion but staying stoically at his side. As they neared the courtyard, people began to spill out of the Great Hall to watch them approach. The silence was absolute: no one knew whether to cheer or lament the death of the mysterious man. After the final battle with Voldemort, many of the onlookers expressed their opinion that Harry had lied to the evil wizard about Professor Snape in order to break Voldemort's concentration. Harry had brokenly tried to explain that Professor Snape had actually been on their side, but as Harry had gone upstairs to sleep without sharing the entire story, most of the assembly felt that he was probably delirious—and mistaken. Noticing the many stares, Hermione wordlessly conjured a black drape to cover Professor Snape. She didn't know him well, but she knew this: he would never have wanted to be the subject of such open curiosity, and would never have wanted to appear so vulnerable.

When they entered the castle, the Healer hesitated, glancing at Hermione. She knew what his unspoken question was: were they to lay Professor Snape with Voldemort and the other dead Death Eaters, or would he be laid alongside the likes of Remus and Tonks, Colin and Fred, all those who had bravely fought on the side of Harry Potter? Lifting her chin, Hermione indicated the Great Hall, and she staunchly ignored the handful of gasps and mutterings as the Healer directed Professor Snape's body into a far corner of the room. Harry had briefly told her and Ron about Snape's memories, and Hermione didn't need any further convincing about the professor's loyalties. Glaring around at the onlookers, she made it clear that he was not to be disturbed, and she gently tucked the drape back around his face where it had slipped to reveal a few strands of blood-soaked black hair.

Someone grasped her arm and yanked her to a standing position. Turning clumsily to see who had grabbed her, she stumbled and fell against Professor McGonagall.

"What on earth are you still doing down here, Miss Granger?" her professor exclaimed, steadying her. "You were supposed to be sent up to sleep hours ago! Someone escort this girl to a bed immediately – Miss Patil, yes, thank you," Professor McGonagall said as Parvati stepped forward, holding out a hand for Hermione.

"I was going to, Professor, really," Hermione said. "Then I remembered Professor Snape-"

"Yes, well, he is most appreciative, I am sure," McGonagall replied dryly. "Miss Patil, please make sure that Miss Granger is not disturbed. Off with you!"

As the girls walked towards their old dormitories, Hermione stopped, suddenly afraid. "Parvati, where are the others? Where's Ron? Harry? Ginny?" She didn't know why they might have left her here, but she could not recall seeing them in the Great Hall.

"Don't worry, Hermione," Parvati said. "They're sleeping, all of them – in fact, even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are asleep on the couches in our common room," she explained. "You're the last one."

"What about you?" Hermione asked. "Surely you and the others are tired too?"

"Oh, we've already taken a sleep shift," the other girl answered. "Those of us who are well enough to avoid the Hospital Wing have been taking turns sleeping and caring for the others who aren't as lucky." Hermione noticed the way Parvati's face scrunched as she fought to hide the obvious emotional pain of her words.

Hermione nodded, yawning. It seemed that things were rather under control without her help, and she allowed herself to anticipate several long hours of much-needed rest for the first time in… well, too many hours for her tired brain to count. Parvati guided her through the portrait hole, both of them tiptoeing past the sleeping Weasleys, before heading up the stairs to the room that had once been her home for six years. Collapsing into bed, Hermione barely noticed Parvati's spell changing her clothes into a pair of soft pajamas before her eyes fell closed and she drifted into slumber. Though sleep came quickly, it was not destined to last.

* * *

**A/N: At long last, my fabled sort-of-kind-of-but-not-really follow-up to Almost Love. I am sorry to say that this story will in fact be going in a different direction, and disregarding most events of AL to stand on its own. However, I'm really in love with this story on its own, and I hope that you will give it a chance and enjoy it as well! **

**Many thanks to the numerous betas who have aided me with this story, and this chapter in particular: Jemmenuie, indey101, katie9635, and two others (I'm not sure of their pennames so I won't post anything until I find out!) (The last few are from ashwinder and I don't know if they have accounts here or not.)**

**I have several chapters of this story written, but posting updates will be slow, so you have been warned.**

**I am not JK Rowling, nor would I want to be. What would I do with all that lovely money, anyway? Hire Alan Rickman to talk me to sleep? Psh, no...but yes. Yes I would. **


	2. The Dream

**Chapter 2: The Dream**

_Find me. _

Hermione was staring, wide-eyed, at the body of her former professor as he lay dead in the Shrieking Shack. Had she just heard him speak to her? No, surely it was a trick of her imagination…

_Find me._

His eyes, darkest black even in death, opened slowly to bore into her own as he repeated those two little words.

_Find me. _

The words were both command and plea. Hermione was paralyzed with horror at the sight of a dead man speaking to her, and he spoke again, this time with more urging.

_Find me. _

His hand, so recently limp, reached out to her. She woke with a start, certain that the familiar voice was issuing from her very room. Quickly lighting her wand and looking around, she accepted that she was alone. Determined to ignore the unsettling dream, she rolled over and drifted back to sleep, only to encounter the same vision almost immediately.

_Find me. _

Professor Snape's face, usually so impassive, shone with such insistency that Hermione felt compelled to answer him: _I have! _she cried out to him. _I brought you back to the castle! _But the dead man shook his head impatiently, glaring at her, and as the dream swirled away, his words echoed again.

_Find me. _

Hermione slept deeply for the rest of the night and did not awaken until nearly lunchtime the next day. She put the disturbing dream out of her mind, deciding that it was a result of the shock and stress of the last twenty-four hours...oh, who was she kidding? More like the stress of the last _year_.

* * *

After her fourth straight night trapped in the same horrid nightmare, however, Hermione was ready to try a Dreamless Sleep potion to help her. The Dream was starting to renew her feelings of being hunted. Hermione had done her best to work herself into exhaustion each day. There was so much to be done – tending to the injured, cleaning up the rubble covering every surface, and fending off interviewers from every magical publication in the country. It seemed that no one had bothered to resurrect the barriers protecting Hogwarts immediately following the battle, so reporters had swarmed the castle, all clamoring for personal stories from the war's heroes. Eventually, Aberforth had run most of them off, but Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before she, Ron, Harry and the others would be sitting down with one reporter or another to give their stories.

In the meantime, Hermione found that she was prevented from helping out as much as she'd like by well-meaning people such as Molly Weasley. Everyone had been treating her cautiously, continually urging her to go back to sleep or to eat something. They didn't understand that she needed to work, to stay busy, to help her move past the horrors of the last year. So she had taken to sneaking off and cleaning up remote corners of the castle, where she would not be disturbed and bundled off back to her dormitory. She knew Ron had slept for almost two days straight, and she envied him. Harry seemed to be in a similar position as her-wanting to help, to be surrounded by people who were still alive and well, not isolated in a bedchamber—but he was also being treated as though he might break at the slightest provocation.

The unending work had failed to stop The Dream, as Hermione was now mentally referring to it, from recurring, however. She was certain it was just a reaction to the scene at the Shrieking Shack, but regardless, she did not fancy Professor Snape's dead body speaking to her every night. Now that the threat of danger was gone, she was noticing how weak she had become. She tired easily and did not have much of an appetite. She needed to work, but she also needed rest and recuperation. Because of The Dream, however, every nightfall, she was reluctant to leave the comfort of the others. It was for this reason that she had finally gone to see Madam Pomfrey to get the Dreamless Sleep potion. Madam Pomfrey was only too happy to comply, gently rebuking Hermione for waiting so long to come to her. Hermione's Gryffindor sensibilities chided her for her need to use it, but it was her last hope for a night of uninterrupted sleep. That evening, less than a week after the defeat of Voldemort, Hermione gratefully swallowed the Dreamless Sleep potion before climbing into her bed.

Peaceful sleep was not to be.

_Find me. _

Professor Snape stared at her, his lips barely moving.

_Find me. _

His hand reached for her, his long fingers grasping at air.

_Find me._

Aggravated, Hermione sat up in bed with a snarl. Grabbing the vial of Dreamless Sleep, she tipped it to her lips, only to discover that she had already drained it. Hurling the empty vial across the room, she flopped back down in bed, vowing to brew herself a stronger batch the next day. Knowing what was coming, she closed her eyes, only to see the ghastly vision of a dead Severus Snape calling, calling, calling to her.

* * *

It was well over a month since the final battle, and as June led into July, Hermione finally came to accept the images that entered her dreams nightly. No amount of Dreamless Sleep prevented The Dream from occurring, and she refused to continue the use of an ineffective potion. She was no longer quite so horrified by The Dream, although she did wonder what it meant. Since she had thrown out her Divination texts, and the Hogwarts library had been decimated, she had no way of looking up the meanings of one's dreams. It was just as well – she was not the sort of foolish girl to read anything serious into the brain's nighttime wanderings. She just wished she could put to rest the guilt about the way Professor Snape had died – maybe then The Dream would cease to plague her.

Hermione brushed out her hair before twisting it into a simple plait. There was no point making any more of an effort - the summer heat would soon undo it. She cursed the Wizarding tradition of holding funerals outdoors. Today, they would be laying Severus Snape to rest, and she hoped that the ceremony would provide the closure needed to stop The Dream. Professor Snape's was the last of the many memorial services that had been held since the final battle. It had taken so long to arrange because the Ministry's idea of an appropriate funeral for Professor Snape was drastically different than her own – and more importantly, than Harry's. When they'd heard how the Ministry planned to bury him alone and unannounced in a small cemetery in Spinner's End, she and Harry had detached themselves from the rebuilding efforts and begun a frustrating battle to have his life celebrated, instead.

They'd met a great deal of resistance, and not all of it from the Ministry. Ron had refused to help, saying only that Snape may have been on their side, but that didn't make him a good person. Hermione was saved the trouble of chastising him by a well-placed slap from Molly Weasley. Still, Ron hadn't wanted to help with any of the arrangements, so she and Harry had forged ahead without him. In the end, no one could say no to The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, and after today's memorial service, Professor Snape would be entombed alongside Dumbledore on Hogwarts' grounds. Hermione herself had chosen the monument: a stark black marble obelisk with his name, birth date, and date of death. The simple word "Hero" was etched above his name in large, somber letters. Below his information, in smaller lettering, was a quote from his speech to his first-years, which had become infamous amongst Hogwarts students both young and old: "I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death."

Hermione thought the entire thing was quite fitting for Professor Snape. It was a little ostentatious, certainly; but then, he had played such a large yet unknown part in their war against Voldemort that it only seemed right he get a little recognition now. Stepping out of the castle, Hermione shivered. Although the day was warm, the sun was shaded by clouds and a certain gloominess seemed to envelop the lawn.

"It's like he's controlling the weather," Ron grumbled, coming to stand next to her.

"Don't be silly," she chided, although she secretly agreed. She took his arm and they headed down towards the many rows of chairs set out. Hermione was surprised to see how many people were already there. It seemed that Harry's account of Snape's actions had finally begun to sink in with the rest of the Wizarding population – either that, or many of these people were spectators, and had come out of curiosity. She and Ron took their seats in the front row, greeting Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. Just like they had for Harry, the Weasley clan had banded together and pronounced themselves to be Severus Snape's honorary family, which was why they were all sitting in the front. Hermione allowed herself a small smile, knowing that this "adoption" would have Professor Snape rolling over in his grave if he knew. But, it was one of the best traits of the Weasleys – their unerring devotion to anyone they deemed in need of it.

Soon, light music reached their ears, and Hermione closed her eyes, trying to focus on the soothing sounds and not the overwhelming sadness. She'd chosen the music herself – classical, which she thought a man like Professor Snape would most likely appreciate. Allowing the noise of the murmuring crowd to fade from her mind, Hermione began to drift along, thinking of nothing as the music washed over her.

_Find me! _

The voice was insistent, agitated. Hermione jerked, sitting up straight and staring around. Rubbing a hand across her eyes, she tried to scrub away the image of a bleeding Professor Snape ordering her to find him. He had never seemed so angry in her dreams before. Then again, she'd never experienced the vision while mostly awake before, either. Discomfited, she shifted in her chair and was relieved to see Harry making his way to the podium. Unlike Dumbledore's funeral, Harry had insisted on speaking. He and Hermione had forbidden any Ministry officials from giving speeches, since Harry had hated all the posturing that had occurred at Dumbledore's funeral, and only Harry and McGonagall expressed any desire to talk about the man they knew.

Relaxing as the ceremony began, Hermione listened to Harry's speech half-heartedly. He'd rehearsed it with her over the last few days, wanting to make sure he paid ample tribute to the man who had sacrificed so much in the name of love. Hermione was only slightly more attentive as McGonagall spoke; she knew the Headmistress was wracked with guilt over her treatment of then-Headmaster Snape at the end, and this was her way of trying to make amends. As her gaze roved around the assembly, Hermione saw Kingsley Shacklebolt leaning over, whispering to Harry. Curious, she was studying them when they both turned to look directly at her. Her eyes widening, she tilted her head in inquiry. Harry gestured to her that she should join them.

Slipping silently from her seat, she made her way around the podium as discreetly as possible. "What is it?" she asked when she was near enough to be heard. "What's wrong?"

Harry and Kingsley exchanged a glance. "There's a bit of a problem," Harry whispered. "It seems that… well, you'd better explain, I'm not sure I understand," he said to Kingsley.

"We have no body to place in that tomb," Kingsley said quietly.

"What?" Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. "I mean – what happened to it? Where is he?" she asked more quietly.

"He's still at the Ministry," Kingsley reassured her. "However, I was informed just a few minutes ago by one of our head Healers that Severus' will specifically states he is to remain as he is in the morgue at the Ministry."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. She could tell that he was just as confused as she was. "But, Kingsley, why? Today's his funeral, we've been planning this for weeks, how come this hasn't come up before?"

Kingsley shook his head. "As to that, I'm not sure," he said. "All I know is that when I sent the memo requesting his body to be prepared and delivered to the castle today, I received the response that he was to stay where he is. I've just arrived here from St. Mungo's with the Healer – perhaps he can explain more." Kingsley indicated a man standing several feet away, blocked from the view of the onlookers by a large tree. Hermione recognized him, but could not recall where she would have met him.

They quietly made their way over, with Kingsley performing the introductions. The name was vaguely familiar.

"Fawcett?" Hermione asked. "Is your daughter a Ravenclaw?"

"Yes," Terrence Fawcett replied. "But we've met before – I was the Healer who accompanied you to the Shrieking Shack that night." His voice was calm, soothing, and Hermione guessed it was one of the reasons he was such a successful Healer.

"I thought I remembered you," she answered. Silence reigned for a moment, and Hermione was aware that McGonagall had paused in her speech to wipe away tears. Remembering why they were having this discussion, Hermione looked back at the Healer. "So, Healer Fawcett, why is it that we have no body to bury today?"

He had the grace to look abashed. "I apologize that this issue did not come up earlier. Had I known of your plans for Professor Snape's memorial services, I would have brought it to Kingsley's attention sooner. As it is, well, I'm afraid his last will and testament very clearly stated that he was to be kept under certain conditions in the Ministry for one year following his death."

"Certain conditions?" Harry piped up. "What 'certain conditions'?"

Fawcett looked uncomfortably at Kingsley. "I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to divulge," he admitted.

Kingsley glanced at the worried expressions on Harry and Hermione's faces before speaking. "These two have worked tirelessly to champion Severus' name after the final battle. They've arranged everything you see before you today. If anyone deserves to know, it's them."

Nodding, Fawcett turned to Harry and Hermione. "When a wizard dies, his or her will is presented to the Healer summoned to prepare the body," he began.

"Oh!" Hermione interjected. "That's what you were looking at, that night in the Shrieking Shack. I wondered."

"Yes," he agreed. "That was Professor Snape's will. Usually, wizards just outline their ideas for their burial, such as what robes they wish to wear, and that's the end of it. However, Professor Snape's will was rather more, ah, detailed." He halted, and clasped his hands as he considered his next words. "Professor Snape outlined a very specific treatment plan for his body, a very _unusual _plan. Since his will was in fact a valid document, we have no choice but to respect his wishes. As such, his body will remain locked in a temperature-controlled room at the Ministry for one year, after which time it can be buried in whatever plot was set up for him at the time of his death."

Hermione suspected that the Healer was not telling them the full story. She remembered, now, the way he and the Auror had consulted with each other before finally preparing Professor Snape's body. She had been too tired at the time to give it much thought, but now she wished she'd watched the proceedings.

"So we have no one to lay to rest today," Harry said flatly.

"You have no physical body, that is true," said Fawcett gently. "But the man, Severus Snape, _is _being laid to rest today, and that is the true point of a memorial service, is it not?"

Hermione was forced to agree with him. They would just have to skip over that part of the ceremony. In all actuality, it wouldn't cause that much of a stir – there had been so many witches and wizards missing or presumed dead that many of the services held over the last weeks hadn't had any bodies present at them, either. Sighing, Hermione looked out over the lake. Was _nothing _involving Professor Snape ever going to be simple?

"I guess you're right," Harry conceded. "Thank you for coming to tell us yourself."

"It's just part of my job," Fawcett replied. Shaking Kingsley's hand, he turned and headed back towards the gates and the Apparation point.

"Shall we?" Kingsley gestured towards the chairs, and they followed him back to the crowd. McGonagall was wrapping up her speech, and Harry tried to flatten his hair before stepping back up to the podium. He hugged McGonagall tightly before making his final remarks. Hermione slipped back into her seat, giving Ron's questioning glance a tiny shake of her head. She would explain after the service. He slipped his hand around hers and squeezed reassuringly.

Together, Harry and Kingsley set the marble tomb into the ground at the base of the monument. Chances were, most of the audience thought Professor Snape's body was already inside. It was no secret that he had been mangled by Voldemort's snake, so a closed casket wasn't the least bit odd. Watching from her seat, Hermione sent a heart-felt "thank you and goodbye" skyward.

* * *

**A/N: Right, so, creepy dream, yes? Thanks to Jemmenuie, indey101, katie9635, and two others for beta reading this chapter and providing much-needed restructuring. I'm not JK Rowling.**


	3. Revelation

**Chapter 3: Revelation**

The next morning, Hermione awoke from The Dream in unfamiliar surroundings, and she immediately lunged for her wand. An amused snort had her whipping her head in the direction of the sound, only to discover Ginny, sitting on her bed and gazing interestedly at her. Lowering her wand, Hermione shook her head and laughed.

"Sorry. Nasty habit," Hermione explained. As the sleep cleared from her brain, she remembered Apparating to the Burrow yesterday after Professor Snape's service. She and Harry would be spending an indeterminate amount of time with the Weasleys now that the deluge of memorials was over. She, Harry and Ron were all going to take some time to reacclimatize themselves before trying to figure out what to do with the rest of their lives. Hermione had a number of ideas, but when compared to stalking and destroying the most dangerous wizard of all time, well, everything else fell short.

"That's alright," Ginny replied, tilting her head. "You were talking to Snape just now, you know." Ginny's tone was casual, but Hermione knew the girl wouldn't have brought it up if she wasn't worried about it. Biting her lower lip, Hermione ran through a litany of explanations in her head before responding.

"Really?" she said carefully. "What was I saying?"

"You kept saying, 'I did, Professor Snape, I did! I brought you back to the castle! Just leave me alone!' over and over."

"How odd," Hermione said. She hoped Ginny couldn't see how tense she was. "I suppose it was the stress of his memorial yesterday."

Ginny looked at Hermione for a long moment before replying. "I suppose so. Shall we go down to breakfast?"

Relieved, Hermione stood and dressed for the day, following Ginny downstairs a few minutes later. The Dream no longer bothered Hermione as it had the first few weeks, but she was not keen to share with anyone the fact that she was being haunted by Professor Snape at night. She couldn't stand the thought of being fussed over any more than she already was.

Ron and Harry were already at the table, and from the looks of it, Ron had already eaten at least one meal's worth of food. Smiling, she sat next to him, swiping a piece of toast from his plate as she did so.

"Oi! I was going to eat that," he grumbled.

"Oh, were you?" she replied serenely, taking a large bite and crinkling her nose at him. He smiled and passed her the jam.

"Could we have some more toast over here?" Ron called to Mrs. Weasley. Four slices flew through the air and landed on a plate in the middle of the table, followed quickly by a full platter of bacon, roast potatoes and some sort of muffin. Hermione knew the three of them looked somewhat skeletal, which was why Mrs. Weasley had made it her mission to feed them nearly round the clock. Almost by unspoken agreement, the trio hadn't said much about their time on the run—not the long days of hiding out in the tent, anyway. Their recollections had centered mostly on their forays into the Ministry, Godric's Hollow, Gringott's, and Hogwarts. The comparatively "boring" times spent in various forests were not what people wanted to hear about. The action-filled, dramatic attempts to retrieve Horcruxes? Yes. The long days of suffering, anxiety, starvation and repetitive musings? Not so much. Hermione didn't blame them; she certainly didn't relish reliving those days either. In any case, it seemed fitting that the wider Wizarding world _didn't _have those details—the memories remained solely hers, Harry's and Ron's, and that was how it should be. Still, it didn't take any explanation for Mrs. Weasley and the others to see that the trio hadn't eaten well, which explained why a tray of scones had just landed in front of Hermione. She was drawn out of her reverie when an owl arrived.

"Ginny, dear, it must be your end of year papers," Mrs. Weasley called. Ginny stood up and retrieved the scrolls of parchment attached to the owl's leg. As the owl disappeared, Ginny unrolled the letters and showed them to Mrs. Weasley, who congratulated her on her performance in her classes while dealing with certain _distractions_. The scrolls also included a letter from Professor McGonagall—now Headmistress McGonagall—describing the program that Hogwarts was putting in place for students whose previous year had been interrupted. Ginny would return to school two weeks earlier than normal to complete her sixth-year classes before the new term started.

Hermione realized she was staring, and snapped her gaze back to her breakfast. She noticed similar looks of envy on Harry's and Ron's faces, too. They'd missed their entire seventh year, and Hermione didn't know if they would be able to sit for their NEWTs—or even graduate. Ron had moved over to the window and was peering out as though looking for an owl bringing _his _papers. When no owl was forthcoming, his shoulders slumped and he dumped his dishes into the sink, walking outside without a word to anyone. Harry and Hermione quickly followed.

"I thought maybe they would've given us honorary NEWTs, you know?" Ron asked, not turning to see if it was them. They'd spent so much time together, they could pretty much sense one another's presence. "I mean, I'm not asking for Outstandings or anything like that, but would it kill them to give us Exceeds Expectations?"

"You still can't Transfigure anything properly, Ronald," Hermione teased him. "Why would they give you an E for turning a teacup into a silver gnome with a handle?"

Ron mumbled something about "Sword of Gryffindor," "bloody Horcrux," "Voldemort" and "no respect." Hermione privately agreed with him, though—would they really be forced to return to school for a year just to secure their NEWTs? It would be difficult to see the relevance at best, and at worst—it would be downright boring. Thinking that her acquaintances would be shocked to hear her train of thoughts, she focused back on their conversation.

"Do you remember when our owls came last summer?" Harry asked, a note of nostalgia in his voice.

"I remember when _our_ owls came with our leftover homework, Harry," Ron laughed. "Miss 'I-love-homework' here nearly throttled her owl when it didn't have her Potions assignment attached."

"Oh, stop!" Hermione exclaimed good-naturedly. "My priorities were a bit different last summer, thank you! Although I still don't know why mine arrived separately."

"It was a bit odd," Harry agreed. Three owls had arrived bearing their end of year papers from Hogwarts. Included with Ron's and Harry's had been an assignment from Potions class the day Professor Snape stood in for Professor Slughorn.

"Made excellent kindling, though, eh?" One side of Ron's mouth lifted in a smile so familiar and dear to Hermione that she felt a bit teary-eyed. The boys had forgotten about the assignment entirely—Professor Snape had only taught Potions class once that year, in March. They had merely glanced at the assignments before balling them up and tossing them into the fireplace, denouncing Professor Snape and his treachery. Hermione, however, had rifled through her stack of papers twice and could not find her essay. Even though they all agreed Professor Snape was an evil traitor, she'd still been looking forward to seeing her mark on the paper. She had spent a great deal of time on it, after all, and had always done her best to earn her professor's approval. She would never have admitted it to the boys, but she would consider it somewhat of a life achievement if Professor Snape ever gave her anything above an Acceptable on her assignments.

"I suppose it was just a mix-up at Hogwarts," Hermione mused. "Quite understandable, really, given the recent events at the time." It was the explanation she'd settled on last summer, telling herself that her paper would arrive shortly and that she shouldn't fret overly much. Three days later, however, Hermione had been fuming. Her paper still had not arrived, and the boys had to convince her not to owl McGonagall directly, asking for it. It wasn't until the afternoon of the fourth day that a strange unidentified owl arrived with her assignment. Hermione had hurriedly detangled the parchment and opened the scroll—at last, at long last, she had scored an Outstanding on a Potions assignment! She had been even more shocked when she spotted the "Excellent work, Miss Granger" scrawled in spiky handwriting at the bottom.

Professor Snape had only ever criticized her assignments before, and Hermione's elation at finally receiving some praise was quickly doused. This was the man who, a mere month before, had killed Dumbledore. A man who, at that very moment, was likely scheming with Lord Voldemort as to the quickest way to kill Harry Potter—and his Mudblood best friend. Ron and Harry encouraged her to throw the wretched thing into the fire as they had done, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to do it. As ridiculous as it sounded, she wanted to keep it—this proof that she had finally managed to impress Professor Snape. The boys had teased her mercilessly about her devotion to schoolwork, and Hermione had given up arguing with them. She was at once proud and horrified, and in the end, she'd tucked it away with some old school things in her parents' attic.

She was jarred out of her thoughts when Harry directed a question at her. "What was that assignment, anyway? I can hardly remember."

"It was the day Professor Snape taught us to brew an antivenin for Basilisk poison," she answered softly. The three of them were silent, each lost in thought. After she'd made the connection to Gryffindor's sword and the Basilisk venom, she'd wondered briefly if Professor Snape had known what they were going to face—and if that lesson had been deliberate. But she'd rejected the idea, then, that he had been trying to help: he had killed Dumbledore, hadn't he? And he was allowing students to be tortured at Hogwarts, wasn't he? Now, of course, his true motivations were known, and Hermione thought he _must _have taught them that particular potion purposefully. Sighing, she wondered idly where that box from her parents' house was stored.

"Well, I still don't like the bloke," Ron stated.

"I dream about him every night," Hermione said absently.

"You – what?" Ron spluttered.

"That's disgusting, Hermione," Harry added.

"No! Oh, no, not that way," Hermione said. "I only meant I have this recurring—nightmare seems too strong a word. Vision, I suppose, is better. It's his dead body—he speaks to me."

Ron and Harry were staring at Hermione now, and she squirmed under their full attention. She hadn't meant to bring this up, but it did feel good to finally tell someone. Ron's face was bordering on crimson and Harry still looked like he might lose his breakfast.

"I knew it," another voice said from behind them. Hermione turned as Ginny approached them. "I knew there was more to the story than you told me this morning." Seeing the twin looks of confusion on Ron's and Harry's faces, Ginny explained, "She was talking to him—well, arguing, really—last night in her sleep. 'I _did_ find you, Professor!'"

Hermione squared her shoulders. "Well? It's hardly surprising. We _did _watch the man die. Anyone would be affected by that." Still, they stared at her.

"Hermione, you ought to take something for that," Ron began, but she cut him off.

"I have," she admitted irritably. "Dreamless Sleep doesn't stop it from happening. I took it for nearly two weeks to no effect. He just...keeps asking me to 'find him'." She shrugged and stared off towards the hills. A moment later she felt Harry awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.

"It's just a nightmare, Hermione," he said. "It'll go away eventually. It doesn't mean anything."

She nodded, and Ron moved closer to wrap an arm around her. Ginny led Harry back to the kitchen while Hermione and Ron remained together, quiet. Ever since their frantic kiss during the battle, they had been touching each other constantly, as though trying to reassure themselves that they were in fact still alive. A pat here, a hug there: Hermione frequently ran her hands through Ron's shaggy hair, and Ron kept an arm around her whenever possible. It wasn't passion, really—it was more a compulsive need to make sure that the other one was still there.

"So, this dream-Snape," Ron said. "What does he say to you, exactly?"

"It's always the same," she answered. "'Find me.' He just—repeats it. And he looks angrier every time he says it."

"You see him, too?"

Hermione shuddered. "Yes. Or his body, anyway. It's-it's always in the Shrieking Shack."

"D'you suppose it's because you're the one who went back for him?"

"That's what I thought as well," she said. They stood quietly for a few more moments.

"It's creepy," Ron said finally. "You'd think he'd leave you alone, now that he's dead." A jittery chuckle escaped Hermione, and she stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm used to it now, to be honest," she said. "Shall we go back in?" Ron briefly wrapped her in a tight hug before nodding and following her back to the house.

* * *

That night, dream-Snape had more commands for Hermione.

_Think, you foolish girl! Find me. _

Hermione woke the same way as the day before, wand in hand and Ginny staring at her contemplatively.

"Was I—talking again?" she asked.

"Yes," Ginny replied. Hermione cringed. "You know...it's odd, isn't it, the way he's only haunting _you_? I mean, a normal dream would've responded to the Dreamless Sleep potion. Don't you think that's peculiar?"

Hermione bit her tongue when she wanted to snap _"Of course I do."_ Ginny was her closest female friend, and Hermione knew she was only trying to help. Additionally, she was probably tired of listening to Hermione argue with Professor Snape in her sleep. Maybe it was time to find her own place to live. "I guess I thought it was more persistent because of all the horrors I've seen, and the guilt," Hermione said eventually.

"Yes, but—why you? Why are Harry and Ron sleeping soundly when you're having these visions?"

"I don't know—wait, how do you know how the boys are sleeping?" Hermione looked at Ginny suspiciously as the other girl began to blush.

"Ah, well, I've been, um…" Ginny looked away. "I've been slipping in at night to stay with Harry," she mumbled. Then she looked back, and said with her customary defiance, "But it's only because he doesn't want to be alone! He died, sort of, and I can't stand to sleep apart, is all."

Hermione smiled. "I think it's sweet," she said simply. "Goodness knows he deserves someone who loves him as much as you do."

Ginny smiled back, clearly relieved Hermione was not going to lecture her. "When we move into Grimmauld Place, you can have a room with Ron. No one will care."

"What?" The idea of living in that horrid townhouse with Mrs. Black shrieking insults every chance she got was enough to make Hermione long for the tent again.

"I take it the boys haven't mentioned anything to you." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Ron and Harry are planning to move into Grimmauld Place in a few months so they can be close to the Ministry—assuming, of course, that they get accepted to the Auror training program. I'll still be in school for a year, but I think Harry and I will live there once I graduate. Obviously you're part and parcel of the package, as well...I guess they didn't say anything because they figured you'd just be doing whatever they're doing. Typical boys."

"Typical," Hermione murmured. Her mind was racing. She hadn't given much thought to her plans for the future, but she supposed she could hardly continue to live at the Burrow while Ginny was away at school and the boys were in training. She supposed she'd need to speak to Professor McGonagall about sitting for her NEWTs and then—what? Were she and Ron going to get married? She really had no idea. This was all so new.

Then another thought hit her. She could hardly start living with Ron, sharing his sleeping quarters, if she was having disturbing nightmares every night. He was probably the last person on earth who would understand when it came to Professor Snape's intrusion on her life. Ginny had been patient so far, but Hermione realized now it was probably because the younger girl wasn't ever _in _their room at night while Hermione was experiencing the worst of it.

"Well, I guess I need to start planning for the move!" Hermione said, hoping Ginny couldn't tell that her cheeriness was just a bit false. "So, that brings us back to your question—why is Professor Snape haunting me?"

Now that Ginny knew about The Dream, Hermione found herself eagerly discussing its possible causes. The two girls were so caught up in theories that Ron nearly had to knock down the door to notify them that breakfast was ready. As they left the room, Ginny mused, "It's just strange, the way he's haunting you specifically. It's like he's not as dead as we think he is. I wonder if his ghost is wandering around the dungeons at Hogwarts, deducting points from Gryffindor?"

"That's a horrifying idea," Hermione laughed as they descended the stairs. Breakfast today included Mr. Weasley, Charlie, and, surprisingly, Percy—so the details of her conversation with Ginny were soon forgotten in the hubbub of a full Weasley breakfast.

* * *

That evening, George, Bill, and Fleur joined everyone at the Burrow for dinner. It was easier to fit everyone outside, so the boys set about moving the tables and chairs while Mrs. Weasley put the finishing touches on the food. As they were sitting down to eat, Hermione noticed a small figure lying on Harry's plate.

Harry noticed it, too, for he held it up and asked, "What's this?"

"Oh! You are holding the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes newest bestseller... The Horcrux Harry doll!" announced George with a flourish of his hands. Hermione looked at the doll. It was Harry in miniature, right down to the tiny scar and glasses.

Silence reigned for a full thirty seconds. Harry was turning the figure over and over in his hands. "I'd prefer to be an action figure, I think," he said finally. "What does it do?"

"Well, for starters, it talks," George said excitedly. "Says things like 'Expelliarmus!' and 'I am the true master of the Elder Wand'. And, look at this—when you hit it with a spell, Horcrux Harry's wand fires back a little jet of gold light. Of course," George added hastily, "all of this is pending your approval, mate. Wouldn't want to find myself in any legal trouble by borrowing your image without permission."

Harry and the others continued to stare at the doll—action figure—whatever it was. Hermione was staring at Harry, wondering how he would react to becoming a children's toy. Absent-mindedly fingering his scar, Harry handed the figure back to George. "I can't imagine you're going to sell any, but you're welcome to try," he said. "Personally, I'd rather never hear the word 'Horcrux' again in my life."

"Here, here," Ron mumbled in agreement, and laughter broke out around the table. Talk turned to George's inspiration for the doll ("Everyone wants a piece of Harry, and now they can have it!") but Hermione was listening to the conversation between Percy and Harry.

"You don't think there's another Horcrux out there somewhere, do you?" Percy was asking. "That is, you could feel it if he was still alive, couldn't you? Because of the connection?"

"I suppose," Harry was answering. "Although I never did feel when the other Horcruxes were destroyed...but if he was alive, I'd think I might've seen into his thoughts again, or seen him in my mind, somehow."

Hermione stiffened in her seat, but she wasn't sure why. Something about this conversation seemed utterly important, but what? The chatter of the Weasley clan faded into an indistinct buzz as her thoughts raced. _Find me... Not as dead as we think he is... Seen him in my mind... Horcrux... Connection... Find me..._

It felt like time had stopped. Hermione felt dizzy, and a strange sense of combined foreboding and elation was coursing through her. It couldn't be. But why not? He was a logical man, familiar with Dark Arts, who knew he would one day be hunted by one side or another, if not both...yet it was so fantastical it was practically unbelievable... And why _her_, of all people? There must be an explanation...but the lack of a body to bury, The Dream, everything, it all suddenly made so much sense...

She could be wrong, but at that moment, Hermione strongly suspected that the reason dream-Snape kept asking her to find him was simple: Professor Snape had made a Horcrux of his own.

* * *

**A/N: *GASP!* And now our plot can begin. There are a number of things that I enjoy about this chapter, but probably the one I like most is Harry saying he wants it to be an action figure, not a doll-the age-old "guy" response to dolls. :)**

**Thanks to Jemmenuie, indey101, katie9635, youburnwithus, and one other for beta reading this chapter. I'm not JK Rowling.**


	4. Research

**Chapter 4: Research**

Hermione pulled the thick sheaf of papers towards her, determined to review everything with a fresh eye. She had been through these notes a hundred times before in the past few days, but maybe, _maybe_ she had missed something. She quickly scanned the top sheet – "SEVERUS SNAPE, DEATH EATER AND DETESTED PROFESSOR, DEAD" – before moving on to the next issue of the _Daily Prophet_, "SEVERUS SNAPE: A TRUE HERO – See Harry Potter's Heartfelt Tribute, Pg. 3." At this, Hermione snorted inelegantly. Leave it to the _Daily Prophet_ to change their stance so abruptly. No matter the spin, none of the articles would hold the information she needed. Shuffling more papers, she unearthed Professor Snape's last will and testament, along with the deeds to his properties, which had reverted to the Ministry upon the declaration of his death. Luckily, no one from the Ministry had wanted anything to do with Professor Snape's possessions, so they had remained untouched—that is, until Hermione had gone searching. Harry had been given the duty of overseeing the late professor's holdings, and it had been easy enough to say that she merely wanted to make sure his belongings were properly respected. No one could know about her feverish desire to find out if she was right—if Professor Snape had truly made a Horcrux. If so, he was even now waiting for revival, not quite dead, but hardly alive.

After obtaining keys from Harry, Hermione searched every inch of Professor Snape's house on Spinner's End, as well as the decrepit little flat he'd owned under an assumed name in Knockturn Alley. She had not left a single object unexamined; had even asked McGonagall, Flitwick, Harry, Kingsley, and Mr. Weasley to peruse Professor Snape's worldly possessions, hoping that someone would recognize a Dark object. She purposefully did not specify what _sort _of Dark object—for now, she didn't want to share her suspicions, in case she was wrong. No one had recognized anything out of the ordinary, though, and a disappointed Hermione had been left with a trail gone cold. Never one to back down from a challenge, however, she dove determinedly into her favorite activity—research. She tentatively approached the small beaded handbag that had been her constant companion over the past year where it sat, ignored, in a corner of her shared room with Ginny. She hadn't had the strength to unpack it, or even look at it, in the weeks following the end of the war, but she knew she needed to start somewhere, and all of Dumbledore's books on Dark magic were in the bag.

In the end, she hadn't the courage to do more than _Accio_ the books from the depths of the bag and replace it in its lonely corner. _Magick Moste Evile _had proved just as useless as it had been during the trio's hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes. Hermione had been hopeful when she settled down to read _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, but it too had not provided the answers she was looking for. Oh, yes, it described in detail how to _make _a Horcrux—Hermione knew she'd have nightmares for weeks—but it had no practical advice as to how one could _recognize _a Horcrux.

Since that day at the Burrow, Hermione had become more and more convinced that her theory explained The Dream. The need to learn the truth had become all-consuming. For the last few weeks, Hermione had found herself in the same state as she was tonight, pouring over banal articles and wooly notes. She did not, however, wish to delve as deeply into the reasons that she was so determined to find out if Professor Snape was still out there somewhere. It went beyond guilt; beyond the need to solve the riddle that was The Dream. She turned her considerable energies to finding even a shred of proof to corroborate her realization. After all, there was nothing more Hermione Granger loved than a mystery and an opportunity to research said mystery.

Sighing, Hermione drew herself away from her papers and stared out her window, unseeing. She was on the verge of giving up. Surely if Severus Snape had indeed made a Horcrux, he would have also left _some_ kind of clue as to its location. As it was, she couldn't think of a single other place he might have hidden it. She'd tracked down his mother's childhood home as well as his father's. She'd even considered revisiting the horrid Shrieking Shack, the scene of his death, fingers crossed that Professor Snape had managed to stow the Horcrux somewhere in the house without Voldemort noticing...but Ron and Harry were starting to notice her frequent absences, so she decided to put that visit off for another time.

Maybe it was time to let someone else in on her suspicions...a fresh perspective might be what she needed. Hermione wondered who to trust. She knew that Harry and Ron were dealing with their own stress from the war, just like she was. She also didn't think they'd be too keen on helping her resurrect "the greasy git," even if Harry had reversed his stance on Snape's true loyalties. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had too much on their plates already with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Horace Slughorn had retired for good and moved to the tropics shortly after cleaning out his things from the school, and Hermione did not want to interrupt his much-needed peace. Who else was there that might know of such Dark magic? Professor Snape had been their only expert in the field while they had been in school, which was no help as it was _him_ she was trying to decipher.

Suddenly, she sat up. Dumbledore! He was the one who had introduced them to the evil objects, after all. Hermione's brain whirred into overdrive as she started planning...a visit to his portrait would be necessary, certainly. She thought she could trust him not to mention her little project to anyone else if she asked him to keep it quiet. Furthermore, she rather thought that Dumbledore owed Professor Snape this one last favor, seeing as how he had controlled and manipulated the lonely man for decades. Hermione felt a pang of sympathy when she thought of how Professor Snape must have felt: honor-bound to kill his mentor. No better than the Death Eater murderer everyone thought him to be... How horrible he must have thought himself, even though Dumbledore's murder had been planned between them. _Murder... Planned..._

Hermione's chair fell to the floor as she stood in a rush, her mouth open in an "O" of shock, one hand halfway covering her lips, trying to contain her gasp. Understanding dawned. Dumbledore and Professor Snape had planned for Snape to kill him. He would have had all year to prepare. He must have known, by then, that the final confrontation with Voldemort was drawing nearer, for Severus Snape was a smart man. Hermione knew instinctively that this was the biggest breakthrough yet. Professor Snape had used his mercy-killing of Dumbledore to create his Horcrux, it just made sense! If she had to guess, she would say that he had not killed anyone in recent years—had likely never killed anyone even in the height of his Death Eater days—he had probably only committed one murder in his life, and so whatever object he had turned into a Horcrux had probably been with him that night in the Astronomy tower.

Trying to focus, Hermione took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She could not allow her excitement to overwhelm her thought process at this critical stage. Thinking back to when Professor Snape had rushed past her in the hall, telling her to take care of Flitwick, Hermione tried to remember if he had been carrying anything unusual. It was times like this when she wished for a Pensieve of her own. Pacing now, her eyes screwed shut in concentration, Hermione did her best to recall everything she could about the man as he had billowed past her that night.

_Hermione and Luna were lounging against the cool stone wall in the dungeon corridor outside Professor Snape's office when they heard footsteps running their way. The girls leapt to their feet and drew their wands, looking worriedly at each other. Hermione hoped the mouthful of Felix Felicis they had each drunk was still in effect. Gripping her wand tightly, Hermione squinted down the dark corridor in the direction of the noise. _

_Professor Flitwick came dashing around the corner, running towards them as fast as his short legs would allow. He seemed not to notice the two girls, aiming straight for the door to Professor Snape's office and knocking against the heavy wood with both fists._

"_SEVERUS!" he yelled. "SEVERUS! QUICKLY! YOU MUST COME – DEATH EATERS IN THE SCHOOL – SEV-" The door was opened and Flitwick practically fell inside, still yelling for Snape. Hermione's wide, horrified eyes met the equally stunned gaze of Luna, and the girls quickly moved to enter the room behind Professor Flitwick. Before they had taken two steps, however, there was a thump and then Professor Snape appeared in the doorway. His face was carved in an expression of stark terror, and Hermione froze. It seemed that he did not notice them at first, but with a slight twitch, he masked his features and glared at the two of them. _

"_What are you – nevermind, there is no time now! Flitwick has collapsed – go in, you must see to him," Professor Snape commanded, and Luna obeyed at once. Hermione was still unable to move, staring at the professor. She had never seen him lose control like this before. He was taking great, gulping breaths of air, but Hermione knew Professor Snape was intimately familiar with the Death Eaters – so what, if not their presence, could be causing this reaction in him? _

_He spoke again, and this time his voice was shaky, distraught. "Lock the door behind me. Do not open it for anyone save McGonagall or Slughorn. Do not leave this room. Do you understand me?" The question was more of a snarl. Professor Snape grabbed her arms roughly, and Hermione nodded jerkily. The professor's eyes drilled into hers, and he passed a shaking hand over his face. _

_Then they heard a loud bang from above, and Snape's features firmed as he tore his eyes away from her. The moment gone, he did not glance back at her as he turned and started running for the stairs. "Get inside, girl!" he growled over his shoulder. "Lock the door! Now!"_

_Hurrying towards the door to his office, Hermione paused at the threshold and watched as Professor Snape turned the corner. Their eyes caught and held each other for the space of a heartbeat, and Hermione felt the connection all way down to her toes. She shivered, and he had disappeared. _

Shaking herself out of her recollections, Hermione felt an unwilling shiver ripple through her body. Frustrated, Hermione had to admit that she had been so terrified, and then so confused, that she couldn't remember anything else about Professor Snape's appearance that night. If he had been carrying something, she hadn't noticed. She wondered if she might have paid more attention to him in the hallway if she had realized, then, that it would be the last time she saw him until—_no_. She mustn't think about that. It was bad enough she was dreaming about the grisly scene in the Shack every night. She lowered herself back into her chair and pulled the sheaf of papers towards her again. She needed to find something, _anything_, that would indicate he had done what she suspected he'd done. And if the answer was in these papers, she would find it.

Skimming through his will again, Hermione reviewed all the properties where he had listed ownership. She'd already visited all of them. Huffing out a breath, Hermione decided to go back and re-read the entire will. When she reached the section on his burial preparations, she nearly skipped past it. Every time she'd read this will before (and that had been many, many times), she hadn't quite wanted to read Professor Snape's plans for his body written out in his own hand. As they'd planned his ceremony, the Healers and other Ministry officials had taken care of ensuring that everything was done according to Professor Snape's wishes. However, something prevented her from skipping this particular section just now. If she wanted answers, she was going to have to look harder for them, and this was a perfect place to start.

As Hermione read, her brow furrowed first in confusion, then in surprise. She read the section again completely before pulling her parchment towards her and beginning to make notes. The part where Professor Snape had detailed his last wishes was elaborate and lengthy; quite unusual, to say the least. Hermione knew from drafting her own Wizarding will that the standard forms did not require this level of detail. Professor Snape had written instructions for the care and keeping of his body, broken down by means of death. Death by Killing Curse, death by prolonged Cruciatus Curse, death by decapitation, dismemberment, exsanguination, poison, asphyxiation, immolation, drowning...he had considered every possible way he might die and written his will accordingly. After an hour of furious note-taking, Hermione slumped back in her seat. The man was as meticulous as she was, and that was saying something.

Standing, Hermione walked to her window and stretched as she looked out at the darkening sky. How depressing it must have been to stare one's own impending mortality in the face in such a rational manner! Hermione had not failed to notice that the section entitled 'Death by Natural Causes or Old Age' had been scratched from the will a mere two days after Voldemort's return at the end of their fourth year. She felt a deep sense of sadness for Professor Snape—he had no doubt feared that Voldemort's resurrection would lead to his untimely death at the hands of his master. Hermione started when she realized that Professor Snape's fears had been realized. Vowing not to give up on him, she returned to her notes and looked for anything that might be a clue.

Another half an hour passed before Hermione smacked her forehead in disbelief. "The _dates_, Hermione!" she chastised herself. Crookshanks opened one eye to stare at her from his position by the fire. She wasn't sure how the cat had managed to find her again, but three days ago he'd shown up on the doorstep of the Burrow, cool as you please. She did notice, however, that he was quite a bit skinnier than when she'd left him with Mrs. Figg before they'd flown Harry away from Privet Drive. "Sorry," she muttered to him, and he returned to his nap. Hermione flipped through Professor Snape's will quickly to confirm: all of these "special instruction" changes had been added the summer before their sixth year...which would make perfect sense if Professor Snape had agreed to kill Dumbledore after their Headmaster was cursed by the ring! Harry had not shown all of Professor Snape's memories to anyone. As far as Hermione knew, he'd shown the pertinent ones to the Wizengamot to clear Professor Snape's name, but the entirety he'd kept to himself out of respect for the dead man's privacy. It was admirable, to be sure, but now Hermione wished she had more information.

She wondered if Harry would consent to show her the memories, especially when she had no good reason that she was willing to tell him. She thought back to what had come out from those memories at Professor Snape's posthumous inquisition: Dumbledore had found Marvolo Gaunt's ring and placed it on his hand, thereby receiving the full blast of the curses on it. Professor Snape had healed him as best he could, isolated the curse, and informed him that he had a year, maybe more, to live. Dumbledore had begged Professor Snape to kill him instead of allowing Draco or, worse yet, Bellatrix, to do it. Professor Snape had reluctantly agreed with the older man's plan. That he had followed through with it was no secret from anyone.

Her thoughts racing, Hermione started to piece together what little she knew of Professor Snape's mindset. After Voldemort's return, the professor was convinced of his own early death. After the Headmaster's mistake with the ring, Professor Snape had been certain of _Dumbledore's _early death, and that it would very likely be by Snape's own wand. If Professor Snape wanted to make a Horcrux, he would have known at that time that the perfect opportunity would present itself within the year. And he would have made his changes to his will accordingly.

Flipping to the relevant section of the will again, Hermione thought she now understood why the Healer and the Auror with her in the Shrieking Shack that night had conferred for so long before starting to prepare his body for transport. She wondered what the official cause of death had been—poison, from Nagini's bite; or bleeding to death, from all his wounds? Each scenario had a slightly different set of instructions in the will. She wondered which method the two men had used, and wished again for her own Pensieve. Some things were consistent among _all _of Professor Snape's possible outcomes, however—any spilled blood was to be restored to his body, his wounds treated and sealed, and the body itself placed under an unfamiliar sort of stasis charm.

Tapping the will against her palm, Hermione thought it rather reminded her of those Muggles she'd read about who had themselves frozen in chemicals. They hoped that many years in the future, scientists would have discovered a way to properly unfreeze them again. Hermione had always scoffed at this idea—it seemed foolish in the extreme to put your faith in a solution that hadn't even been found yet. But there was no denying that Professor Snape had outlined a similar plan here. No wonder they hadn't been able to bury the body at his memorial ceremony—it likely had to remain in the cool chambers of the Ministry morgue. She let out a snort, imagining Professor Snape as some kind of dark, brooding, male version of Snow White, destined to lay in his glass coffin until his Prince—er, Princess—arrived to kiss him and wake him up.

Her growling stomach reminded Hermione that she hadn't eaten since lunch, and it was now well past dark. She wondered if Ginny had even come into their room tonight or headed straight for Harry's. Organizing her stacks of papers and hiding them in her cramped corner of the room, she extinguished her lamps and wandered down to kitchen, still thinking about today's discoveries. It was by no means conclusive evidence, but the fact that Professor Snape had planned his body's preservation after any manner of death during the summer that he'd agreed to kill Dumbledore was enough proof for Hermione to know that she was on the right track. As she chewed her sandwich in quiet contemplation, she was sure it was progress. After all, if there was only one thing she remembered—sickly and vividly—from that night in the Shrieking Shack, it was the edge of the pool of Professor Snape's blood slowly receding from her feet as it was siphoned back into his body.

* * *

**A/N: I hope this chapter makes sense. It was hard for me to have Hermione connecting the dots in a logical manner. Our plot picks up some speed in the next chapter.**

**Thanks to Jemmenuie, indey101, katie9635, youburnwithus, and one other for beta reading this chapter...especially as it required multiple readings and multiple reworkings! Truly, I struggled with this chapter more than anything else I've ever written, and my betas were champs in continuing to review it and make helpful suggestions. I'm not JK Rowling.**


	5. Hogwarts

**Chapter 5: Hogwarts**

Hermione woke the next morning feeling as though she was viewing everything through a veil. Her fuzzy recollections snapped into sharp relief, however, when she remembered everything she'd discovered last night. Leaping out of bed, she raced over to her desk, scanning her sheet of notes to ensure that she hadn't just been dreaming it all. No, her notes were all there—so the only dream she'd had last night had been The Dream. Since she dreamed of Professor Snape every night, it barely even registered with her anymore. She had the sudden urge to take a nap specifically so that she could tell his dream-self that she was getting closer to "finding him." Giggling, she placed the papers back in their hiding place and went to shower.

They were all heading back to Hogwarts today—Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry and Ginny, Ron, herself, and every other Weasley sibling—to help with the rebuilding efforts. Headmistress McGonagall had beseeched every member of the Order to pop in and help out whenever possible, and the Weasleys had volunteered immediately. Even without Fred, they outnumbered everyone else, so Mr. Weasley joked that the vast majority of the repair work fell to them. All of them, Bill and Charlie included, had taken some time away from their regular jobs to be with their family in the aftermath of the war. That Harry and Hermione were immediately included in this time of family togetherness was unquestioned, and Hermione felt again the rush of gratitude for the redheaded Wizarding family.

Exiting the shower, Hermione reflected that it was the perfect opportunity for her to stop in and talk to Dumbledore's portrait without anyone noticing. The rest of them would be too busy with their assigned tasks, and McGonagall was likely to be supervising, which would leave the Headmistress' office free of living people. She'd just have to find the right moment to slip away, and then maybe she could get some answers to her questions.

* * *

"Remind me, the next time I'm blasting a castle to bits, to wait until winter," Ron panted as he levitated yet another stone back into place. The Weasley children, with the addition of Neville, Luna, and numerous other familiar faces, were stationed at intervals all the way along a section of wall that had been felled by one of Voldemort's giants. The adults had been put to work elsewhere in the castle, performing some of the more complicated spellwork.

"Only if you remind _me _not to volunteer myself for manual labor ever again," Dean Thomas croaked as he went past, trying to Vanish a particularly large Acromantula corpse. So far, he was only managing to Vanish it a few yards at a time. Hermione paused for a moment to pour herself and Ron glasses of water from the magical fountain that had been set up nearby. Looking down the row, she adjusted her plan and sent jugs of water floating over to the others, as well. Leaning against the portion of wall that they'd completed, she drank deeply. Ron stopped to guzzle his water, too, before pouring the last bit of it over his head and sighing happily.

Laughing, Hermione reached out and brushed the wet hair off of his face. Ron grinned at her before grabbing her half-full glass and tipping it over her head. Hermione shrieked in mock dismay, moving swiftly to land a soft punch on his arm. Ron's reflexes were quicker, though, and before she knew what was happening, he'd pulled her to him and kissed her. Content, Hermione kissed him back, feeling his smile against her lips and answering with one of her own. She was so engrossed in the familiar comfort of Ron's kisses that she didn't hear the person creeping closer to them, until–

SPLASH!

Hermione and Ron leapt apart, soaked to the skin and looking around wildly.

"Give the rest o' us a break, will ya?" Seamus said loudly. He was holding his now-empty jug and grinning. "Unless you're willin' ta share, that is—Hermione, I've always been in favor of house-elf rights, too, ya know!"

He gave her an exaggerated wink, and Hermione grinned broadly. The story of the beginning of her and Ron's official relationship had been told, to much amusement, one evening shortly after the final battle while the students kept the patients in the makeshift Hospital Wing company. Copious amounts of butterbeer had also been consumed that night, thanks to George Weasley. The result was that Hermione had had to endure seemingly endless amounts of teasing for only admitting her feelings for Ron after he'd tried to protect the Hogwarts house-elves. Slowly, the other students also decided to take a break and come see what the commotion was all about.

"Very funny, Seamus," Hermione answered him. Looking at Ron, she tried to communicate her idea to him. He gave her a slight nod and started moving towards the fountain. Hermione stepped closer to Seamus. "But, you know, I think I _am _willing to share," she said thoughtfully. Seamus' grin dropped away as she continued to advance on him.

"Ah, ya know I was just kiddin', Hermione love," he said nervously, looking around for Ron. Ron merely smiled innocently, as though this happened all the time.

"Oh, no, Seamus, I really think it's only fair." Hermione's grin was nothing short of predatory as she reached the shorter boy. Grabbing him by the shirt collar, she hauled him forward. His eyes widened in shock as she leaned in. "I wouldn't want anyone feeling left out, now would I?"

At that moment, Ron stepped in behind Seamus and doused him with two full jugs of cold water. Seamus yelped and jumped straight into the air while Hermione and Ron doubled over, laughing. "Serves you right, mate," Ron gasped.

Hermione didn't know how it happened, but suddenly, every student on the lawn was grabbing jugs of water and racing around, trying to soak their friends. It was complete pandemonium, and in the spirit of every-witch-for-herself, Hermione ran for the fountain. If she could gain control of their water source...

Hermione reached the fountain at the same time as Ginny. Sizing one another up, both girls dove for the faucet at once, landing in a tangled heap at the base of the fountain. Struggling mightily with the redhead, Hermione soon had to admit defeat. She was no match for Ginny, who had grown up with six older brothers. Ginny wrestled dirty, and she had Hermione pinned in a matter of seconds. Before Ginny could seize control of the fountain, however, another large bucket of water was dumped on the two girls by Luna.

"You look just like mermaids," the Ravenclaw said wistfully. "I always did want to be a mermaid."

"Luna, the fountain!" Ginny cried, trying vainly to shove wet hair out of her eyes.

"Oh, it's mostly over now," Luna said, pointing to the others. Standing up, Hermione noticed that everyone else was drenched to the bone and most were lying on the grass, laughing and staring up at the sun. She helped Ginny to her feet and the three girls walked over to where Harry and Ron were stretched out. Dropping to the grass, Hermione let out a satisfied sigh.

"Well, that was fun," Ron stated, flinging an arm over his eyes. "And the cool water feels nice in this heat."

Ginny made an odd choking sound, and Hermione glanced over, concerned. Ginny was pressing her hand to her mouth and her eyes were brimming with amusement. She jerked her head at Ron, and Hermione looked at him, puzzled. Then she saw it—the entire underside of Ron's arm was covered in grass and mud, making his arm look like some sort of weird creature that Hagrid would probably find adorable. Hermione struggled to contain her own laughter, and she noticed Ginny put her face in her hands. It was no use, though—soon, everyone in their little group was laughing, and Ron sat up, confusion written all over his features.

"What-" But his motions had caused him to rub most of the dirt and grass onto his shirt, and he groaned. "Mum's going to kill me," he muttered.

"I'm sure we can find another shirt for you inside somewhere," Hermione assured him. Slowly, the students stood and returned to their work along the castle wall, refreshed after their bout of playfulness. Ron shrugged.

"Let's face it, Hermione, I'll probably just get that one dirty, too," he said. "This one's fine for working in, honest." He brushed some of the grass off as he stood, too.

"If you're sure?" she asked. He nodded. "Alright then. I'm going to run in and use the loo, though," she told him. He gave her a little wave as she trotted up to the closest door. Her heart began to race—this was the perfect time to sneak up and talk to Dumbledore's portrait. Slipping into the cool hallway of the castle, Hermione shivered as her now too-wet clothes clung to her skin. She wasn't sure whether the goosebumps were from the chill or from what she was about to do.

Hurrying towards the Headmistress' office, Hermione tried to gather her thoughts. She needed to ask Dumbledore the most pertinent questions first, in case she was interrupted. Upon reaching the stone gargoyle that guarded the office, Hermione was dismayed to discover that it had been repaired since the battle. The last time she'd been here had been with Harry and Ron, and the gargoyle hadn't been in any shape to bar visitors from entering. Worrying her lip with her teeth, Hermione approached the stone guardian cautiously.

"Dumbledore?" she asked softly. The gargoyle did not budge. Hermione's shoulders slumped. "McGonagall?" Still nothing. "Voldemort? Lemon drop? Hogwarts?" Hermione rattled off every word she could think of that might be relevant. "Gryffindor! _Winguardium Leviosa!_ Diagon Alley! Hagrid! Ice Mice! Hermione! Ron! Harry!" As soon as Harry's name left her lips, the gargoyle hopped up and moved aside. "Oh, honestly," Hermione grumbled, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

She scrambled up the stairs and nearly fell into the office, slamming the door shut behind her and leaning against it. Her arrival drew the attention of several of the portraits, but Hermione's gaze was focused on just one. Dumbledore's bright blue eyes met hers and the corners of his mouth tipped up in a smile.

"Ah, Miss Granger! How nice to see you," the old man greeted her warmly. "Did Minerva send you for something?" He tilted his head to the side, clearly expecting her to have been sent to the office on some errand.

"Er, not quite," Hermione hedged. "Actually, Professor, no one knows I'm up here. I have some questions I wanted to ask you, and, well, they're sort of—private." She watched Dumbledore's face closely, trying to gauge his reaction. One hand came up to stroke his beard and he looked at her contemplatively.

"I am, as you must know, intrigued," he said gently, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Go on."

"It's just—please don't tell anyone why I was here," she pleaded. "I'm not sure if I'm even right, and I'd hate to cause a stir before I knew for certain-"

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore cut in. "What is it?" His eyes had sharpened, and Hermione remembered suddenly that she was dealing with a master strategist.

She took a moment to collect her thoughts. All the questions she'd thought of on her way to this office were forgotten, as the most pressing one jumped to her lips: "Did Professor Snape make a Horcrux when he killed you?"

Every portrait in the office seemed to freeze at her brazen question. For a long moment, Dumbledore and Hermione merely stared at one another. Finally, he spoke.

"No," her former Headmaster stated baldly. "Forgive my forwardness, Miss Granger, but—no. It's not possible."

Hermione's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Excuse me, sir, but you seem very certain," she said, knowing somehow that she needed to tread carefully.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, yes, Miss Granger, I suppose I am," he answered. "As I'm sure you know by now, Severus and I had a much closer relationship than most ever realized. If he had done something so Dark within these walls—and I say _if_—I would certainly have known about it."

Nodding slowly, Hermione refused to let her feeling of defeat take over. "But, Professor, _if _he had—what would that mean for him, now? Would his soul be—lurking, somewhere?" She gripped her hands together to prevent them from shaking. So much was riding on this conversation, and Dumbledore's willingness to provide her with answers.

He straightened in his chair and stared at Hermione with an intensity she had rarely seen from him. "Why are you asking me these questions, Miss Granger?"

She met his gaze while she debated how best to answer him. At this point, without any real evidence, she was not prepared to take her suspicions to any of her friends. She hardly wanted to be committed to St. Mungo's. But she also needed to find some answers, and she knew that Dumbledore would not provide them without a measure of honesty on her part.

"I think he _did_ make a Horcrux, Professor," Hermione said slowly. "And I think he did it when he killed you." She decided to avoid mentioning The Dream unless it became absolutely necessary.

Dumbledore was shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but we must disagree. Unfortunately, I am well aware of the methods by which one makes a Horcrux, and so I know that there is no possible-"

"I know them, too," Hermione interrupted firmly. She had managed to startle Dumbledore, she could tell. "I took your books, Professor, the ones you had hidden in your office. The ones on Dark Magic." Dumbledore was looking at her with renewed curiosity, and just a hint of smugness.

"You are aware, then, that the Wizard who wishes to make a Horcrux must utilize various body parts from his victim?" Hermione nodded, trying _not _to remember the foul instructions from _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. Dumbledore spread his hands out to her as he said, "You see that there is no way Severus could have used my death to make a Horcrux, as he did not perform the necessary rituals that night on the Tower."

Hermione looked down at her feet. This was the answer she had been expecting—so why did she feel so deflated? Taking a deep breath, Hermione raised her eyes to meet Dumbledore's again. "Well, thank you, Professor," she said sadly. "It was good to see you, but I've got to get back to the rebuilding before the others notice I've been gone for too long."

Her hand was on the door handle when Dumbledore called out to her. "It may interest you to know, Miss Granger, that there have been several reports of a ghost in the Forbidden Forest of late." She glanced back at him questioningly. "A ghost that looks very much like Severus," Dumbledore added, lowering his head to look at her seriously above the rims of his glasses. One eyebrow quirked and then he was back to his usual jovial self. "Good day, my dear!"

* * *

Hurrying out the door, Hermione felt a renewed spark of hope. Why had he told her about the ghost sightings if he didn't at least partially believe she might be right? She was going to have to read up on what happened to a soul after being split and then having its body killed—was it possible that Professor Snape was lingering as a ghost? Her thoughts racing, she took two steps towards the stairs before running into something solid and falling to the floor.

"Oompf!" She fumbled for her wand but was too slow—the sudden appearance of Ginny Weasley on the staircase shocked her into immobility. "Ginny? What-"

"You think Snape made a Horcrux," Ginny stated matter-of-factly.

"You were listening!" Hermione accused her. Ginny shrugged one shoulder unrepentantly, but her expression was concerned.

"I've noticed you've been preoccupied lately, Hermione," Ginny said. "I figured it was just the stress that's been getting to all of us. But when I followed you in to use the loo, I realized you weren't going there at all, so I wondered where you were sneaking off to."

Tired of looking up at Ginny from her position on the floor, Hermione stood slowly. "And you just happened to have Harry's cloak with you?" Hermione cocked one eyebrow at her friend.

Ginny grinned brightly. "Disillusionment Charm," she said proudly. "DA."

"Right," Hermione said weakly. She always felt odd when the others brought up subtle reminders of their year at school without the Trio. Hermione couldn't help feeling like they had formed an exclusive club, of which Harry, Ron, and Hermione had no part. She supposed that the revival of Dumbledore's Army really _was _an exclusive club, now that she thought about it... Turning her attention back to Ginny, Hermione said, "I wanted to know why I'm having those dreams."

"You didn't mention the dreams to Dumbledore," Ginny reminded her.

Shifting her weight, Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ginny. "You know," she said slowly, "I think everyone has rather underestimated your abilities."

If possible, Ginny's grin grew even broader. "That's what I count on," she confirmed. Relenting a little, she reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand. "You're my best friend, Hermione, and if something's bothering you, then it's bothering me as well. You know you can come to me, right?"

Hermione sighed. "Thanks, Ginny. I guess I'm just... I want to know if I'm right, if he did make a Horcrux, but at the same time...what if he did? Then what? Am I supposed to find it? Destroy it? Why can't he just leave me alone?" All her fears seemed to push to the forefront. "I don't know anything about putting souls back together! Everything I've read...it's terrible, really terrible. But I can't seem to let it go," she trailed off quietly.

Ginny nodded at her and squeezed her hand. "You don't have to make any decisions today, Hermione," she said, equally quietly. They stood there for a long moment. "Come on, let's get back outside," Ginny urged her after a while.

"Please don't tell anyone, Ginny," Hermione begged her, refusing to move until the other girl promised. "I'm just not ready." Ginny crossed her wand over her heart before touching it to Hermione's, and the two girls headed back towards the battered end of the castle.

* * *

**A/N: ****Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, indey101, katie9635, youburnwithus, and one other for beta reading this chapter. Jemmenuie especially gets a shout for re-reading this story so many times I've lost track! I'm not JK Rowling.**


	6. The Potions Master

**Chapter 6: The Potions Master**

They were just finishing lunch in the Great Hall, preparing to head back into the summer heat, when Headmistress McGonagall approached Hermione and asked her for a private conversation. Puzzled as to what McGonagall might want to discuss, yet fearing it was her unauthorized trip into the Headmistress' office, Hermione followed the older woman out of the Hall and down the corridor. They did not head towards the Headmistress' office, however; McGonagall led them to a small classroom on the first floor, gesturing for Hermione to precede her into the room.

Hermione walked into the room and gasped. It was as though she'd stepped into a brightly lit meadow. Even as she watched, however, the illusion flickered, and Hermione caught a glimpse of a regular stone-walled classroom with a gaping hole at one end.

"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten you weren't taking Divination when you left school," McGonagall said as she entered the room. "Albus spelled this room to be more comfortable for Firenze while he was teaching here. It has suffered some damage, though, as you can see."

As the meadow flicked back into place, Hermione realized the blast that had taken out part of the wall was also affecting the spells that had turned the room into a clearing in the forest. McGonagall gestured for Hermione to sit on a large tree stump, doing the same thing herself. Hermione slowly sank onto the stump, surprised when it proved to be far more comfortable than it looked. Dumbledore had really thought of everything, it seemed.

"Now, Miss Granger, you are no doubt wondering why I've asked you here," McGonagall began. Hermione was on the verge of confessing her illicit trip into McGonagall's office, but thought better of it and decided to see how angry her mentor was first. She merely nodded instead and waited for McGonagall to continue.

"I'm sure you are aware that many of our professors are getting on in age," McGonagall stated. "For most, the, er, _excitement _of the final battle and a year under the watchful eyes of Death Eaters has taken its toll. Professors Flitwick and Sprout have stated their intentions to take this year to train their replacements, and then announce their retirement. Horace Slughorn is, as we speak, relaxing in a nice retirement village in warmer climates. I'm sure by now you've caught up on your _Daily Prophet_ reading, but in case you did not know: Charity Burbage was killed by Voldemort early last year, and Aurora Sinistra unfortunately perished during the final battle." McGonagall paused here, and the two women sat silently for a moment, reflecting on the many casualties of the war. After a minute, McGonagall spoke again. "Professors Vector, Trelawney, and a host of others are also leaving us. Thus I find myself in the rather pressing situation of being without a number of teachers for the next school year. I'm sure you can appreciate the problem this causes."

"Yes, that is quite the predicament," Hermione agreed, uncertain as to why McGonagall was telling her all this. She was still expecting to be chastised for breaking into the Headmistress' office at any moment.

"I'm glad you agree. This will be easier if I don't have to convince you," McGonagall said with a smile.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Prof- Headmistress," Hermione said slowly.

"To put it bluntly, Miss Granger: I'd like to offer you a job. We need able-minded witches and wizards to fill the voids left by the effects of the war, and there's no more able-minded witch in all of Britain than you."

Stunned, Hermione sat back. "But I haven't finished my education—I don't even have any NEWTs yet!"

"That's quite alright. I know you are young and inexperienced in teaching, but I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. I have chosen to extend offers of employment to several other people in similar circumstances for the practical reason that you younger folk are currently available and able to adjust your plans at a moment's notice, with the added bonus that being at the school will coincide nicely with your desires to complete your NEWTs." McGonagall paused, giving Hermione time to absorb everything.

"I don't expect an answer today; I know you are still recovering from the trials of the past year. Please consider my offer, however, and know that you may come to me with any questions or concerns you may have." McGonagall looked at Hermione over the rims of her glasses, her expression softening slightly. "We would, of course, provide you with room and board, the opportunity to complete your own schooling, and-" she eyed Hermione's collarbone in her typical motherly manner, "regular meals, which I daresay you need desperately."

Hermione laughed appreciatively. It was no secret that she, Ron, and Harry were a good deal skinner than when they'd left school, despite Molly Weasley's best efforts to fatten them up again.

"Thank you, Headmistress, I-I confess I don't know what to say," Hermione stuttered. "Of course, I will consider your offer most thoroughly, although- Did you say _Professor Trelawney_ is leaving Hogwarts? Voluntarily?" Hermione asked, momentarily distracted by McGonagall's earlier statement.

McGonagall's lips twitched upwards in one of her rarest smiles. "Somewhat voluntarily," she conceded. "My first duty as Headmistress was to locate appropriate employment for Sybill..._elsewhere_.I was able to find her a job to her liking, and as she is no longer in danger from anyone, it is quite safe for her to live outside the castle."

"Dare I ask where you've shunted her off to?" Hermione grinned. She and McGonagall had always shared a disdain for the subject of Divination, especially as taught by Professor Trelawney.

"As a matter of fact, she is the new astrological consultant for the _Daily Prophet_," McGonagall replied. "They've even provided her with living quarters strikingly similar to her lodgings here."

"How benevolent of them," Hermione murmured, suspecting that McGonagall had had something to do with _that _particular arrangement.

"Indeed." McGonagall paused, studying Hermione closely. "I would dearly love for you to teach here, Hermione. I am confident you would excel at it."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, surprised. McGonagall had nodded and stood to leave before Hermione realized she had used the wrong address once again. It was going to take some time to learn to refer to McGonagall as 'Headmistress'. _If you teach here, you'll have plenty of practice at that, _she told herself.

"Headmistress," Hermione called, standing as well. "There is really nothing to consider. I would be happy to teach here while I work on my NEWTs."

McGonagall beamed. "Excellent, my dear! Why don't you come to my office before you leave for the evening, and we can go over your contract. For now, let us return to our rebuilding efforts. We have much to do if we ever hope to open this castle to students again." She walked briskly to the door, turning back to say one last thing to Hermione. "If you have any questions over the summer, just owl me."

"Wait, I do have one," Hermione walked a few steps towards the door. "What subject would I be teaching?"

"Oh, dear, didn't I say? I was sure I had. You'll be teaching Potions." McGonagall was out the door, and, Hermione suspected, far, _far_ down the hall long before the shock wore off enough for her to regain her voice.

"_Potions?_" she asked the empty meadow. As if the room knew how she was feeling, the sunny illusion faded into the shadowy stone classroom once more. Potions was the one class she'd had to work hardest at, the one skill she had less than complete confidence in. Knowing that she had a lot to think about, Hermione was grateful to return to the relative monotony of hard labor outside. She always did her best thinking when she was hard at work.

* * *

When she returned to the section of fallen wall where Ron was now working, he gave Hermione a questioning glance. 'Later,' she mouthed at him, quickly rejoining the rhythm of levitating stones back into place. They worked quietly for close to an hour before their concentration was interrupted by Hagrid.

"You lot! I need a couple o' girls ter come wi' me righ' quick!" he bellowed as he approached them. Alarmed, Hermione immediately sprinted forward.

"Hagrid, what is it?" she asked.

"And why do you just need the girls?" Ron asked, appearing beside her.

"It's one o' the unicorns," Hagrid panted. "She's foalin', but she's havin' a spot o' trouble an' won't let nobody but females near 'er," he explained quickly.

"I'll go," Hermione said immediately, checking to make sure she had her wand. "But I don't know anything about birthing unicorns-"

"It's just like birthing humans. Nothing to it," Luna's dreamy voice assured her. Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron—she had no experience birthing _humans_, either, which Luna surely knew. "I'd be happy to help her, Hagrid. Show us the way?" Luna prompted him.

"Righ', this way, then," Hagrid said, obviously in a hurry to return to the unicorn. As they rushed towards the Forbidden Forest, Hermione saw that Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones had joined them as well, and she gave the Hufflepuffs a warm smile. "Here's what ye need ter know," Hagrid spoke again as they neared the edge of the Forest. "She's been laborin' for the better part o' a day but weren't havin' any trouble til near 'bout an hour ago. She's about fifteen, sixteen meters in an' then 'bout five meters to yer left, on a wee patch o' moss snug up agains' a tree. Can't miss 'er," he instructed them.

"Don't worry, Professor Hagrid," Luna said serenely. "I'm sure she'll do just fine. We'll send you a message once the foal's born." Hermione secretly admired Luna's ability to stay calm under pressure. Now that she was about to be faced with a unicorn in distress, her palms were sweaty and she was trembling a bit.

The girls set off into the Forest, Hagrid shouting more instructions behind them. Apparently he had named this unicorn FieldStar. As they walked, Hermione voiced her concerns.

"I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be," she blurted out. "I know some healing spells, of course, but I don't know if they'll work properly on unicorns, I've never read up on it, you know..." She was horrified at the way she was babbling, but she couldn't seem to rein in her tongue. And then another thought occurred to her. "Oh! And I'm not a- that is, I, um...don't you have to be, you know, _pure_, to go near them?"

"It's alright, Hermione," Susan spoke up. "We've all delivered unicorn foals before. And no, you don't _have _to be a virgin to touch them, but it does help them warm up to you faster if you are." Susan was smiling at Hermione, amused by her roundabout admission. Hermione realized that a very pregnant Susan would hardly be going to help if the unicorns would only allow virgins to approach them.

"You've delivered unicorns?" Hermione stopped in her tracks, amazed at this information.

"We were all—Luna included—in Hagrid's NEWT-level Care of Magical Creatures class," Hannah explained. "Any time there was a foaling, we would come help."

"Oh," was all Hermione could manage as she started walking again. She was only slightly ashamed that she hadn't continued Hagrid's class after their fifth year.

In a matter of minutes, they had located the laboring unicorn. It had been surprisingly difficult—the creature was making next to no noise, and her birthing spot of choice was well-concealed from anyone—or any _thing_—happening by. Luna immediately sat and took the unicorn's head into her lap, crooning to it softly in a language Hermione didn't recognize. She hung back as Susan and Hannah approached the back end of the beast.

They examined the unicorn and conferred amongst themselves. Hermione shifted from foot to foot, embarrassed for thinking she would be of any use in this situation. Soon, Hannah had squatted down near the unicorn's flanks while Susan sterilized her arms. Hermione felt decidedly queasy when she noticed Susan's spell going all the way to her shoulders. Then, Luna must have remembered she was there, for she addressed Hermione in a hushed voice.

"They'll need a steady supply of towels soaked in hot water," she said gently. "And perhaps some scissors, as well."

Nodding, relieved to have a job to do, Hermione ripped off a few lengths of fabric from her trouser hem. Transfiguring them into towels, she also conjured a cauldron and her specialty blue flames to heat some water. While she was waiting for that, she performed the trickier spell to turn her hair clip into a nice, sharp pair of medical scissors. Then, thinking about the work her parents did, she also managed a good bit of strong twine for stitches, if needed, and some bandages.

"That's it, FieldStar, you're doing beautifully," Luna murmured as there was a loud whinny. Hermione made the mistake of looking up and immediately wished she hadn't. Susan was grunting as she attempted to turn the foal, and Hannah was working on the same goal from the outside of the unicorn. Checking her water temperature so she would have an excuse to look away, Hermione submerged a few of the towels and carried them over to Hannah, who placed them on the unicorn.

Hermione retreated to her place by the cauldron and marveled at the quiet intensity of the scene before her. The only sounds were the harsh breathing of Susan, Hannah, and FieldStar, and the soothing words being spoken by Luna. Occasionally the unicorn would attempt to rear up, but Luna and Hannah always settled her back down. The girls worked without communicating verbally, and Hermione realized, perhaps for the first time, what she had truly missed during what should have been her last year of school. These were not the same girls she'd left behind.

Soon, something changed, although Hermione was unsure what. She just knew that the atmosphere in the small clearing had suddenly intensified. Luna raised herself to a kneeling position, looking towards the unicorn's tail end while still keeping FieldStar's head in her lap. Susan stepped back from the unicorn and briskly cleaned and sterilized her arms once more. Hannah, too, stood and moved alongside Susan.

With a great roar, FieldStar pushed her foal out into the waiting arms of Hannah and Susan. Luna clapped happily, dropping kisses all over FieldStar's head and calling her a pretty, pretty girl. Hermione watched, transfixed by the miracle that was new life. She was even more amazed when the tiny golden unicorn slowly stood and took a few wobbly steps toward its mother. Susan and Hannah were busily wiping the unicorn's face off, and Hermione hurried over with more towels. She was thankful that her scissors and stitches were unnecessary.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Luna said happily as the baby unicorn nuzzled its mother's face.

"Frightening, you mean," Hermione muttered. The other three looked at her in surprise. "It's so, so—_primal_, you know? Awe-inspiring, of course, but...a little bit scary."

Susan laughed. "Just don't remind me how _frightening _it looks in about three months," she said, placing a hand on her swollen belly.

"I haven't had a chance to congratulate you yet," Hermione said. "Both on the baby and your marriage. I think it's wonderful."

"Thank you!" Susan responded warmly. "Last year was...difficult. But when Ernie proposed, it just seemed right. We didn't know how much longer we'd have together-" Susan looked down at her stomach, gently smoothing her hands over it. "Well, that's in the past now. We're looking forward to being parents."

"You'll be marvelous," Hermione enthused, and Hannah and Luna nodded in agreement. Susan's smile returned to her face, but Hermione remained uneasy. Whenever talk of last year at Hogwarts came up, those who had been there became very quiet, saddened—shuttered. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, what exactly had gone on, and whether those students would ever be able to move forward.

Hermione fired her Patronus off to let Hagrid know that the baby had arrived safely. While they waited for him to come check on the foal and FieldStar, they sat in the moss and chatted about their plans now that the war was over. Hannah was going to be working in The Leaky Cauldron, of course, learning the ropes so that one day she could take over. Susan, apparently, was about to start her residency at St. Mungo's to be a Healer. When Hermione complimented her, saying that she'd be a natural, Susan shrugged.

"I've always had a knack for healing spells and such," she said modestly. "And I'm sure that working with Madam Pomfrey is going to provide me with lots of interesting opportunities to observe all kinds of accidents."

"You're working with Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yes, I'm going to be living at the school and working in the Hospital Wing part-time while I do my training at St. Mungo's," she explained.

"And having a baby," Hannah teased. "No big deal."

Susan smiled. But Hermione's brain was whirring away. "Isn't that going to be a lot of travel for you? Going back and forth from London, Hogwarts, and wherever you live?"

"Well, I'll be living at the castle," Susan answered. "It's where Ernie will be so it just makes sense."

"Ernie's going to be living here? I thought he was in school last year so he could just take the refresher course if he wanted." Hermione wondered, belatedly, if perhaps Ernie had failed his NEWTs and had to repeat them.

"Oh, haven't you heard? Ernie's going to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Susan said brightly.

"I hadn't heard," Hermione said, realizing that Ernie must have been one of the other "young folk" that McGonagall had mentioned. "Congratulations, by the way. I suppose I'll be seeing you a great deal this year, then."

"Me, too," Luna interjected. "Headmistress McGonagall has asked me to teach Divination and Astronomy while she looks for new professors."

Hermione was sure her mouth was hanging open. "_Two_ classes, Luna?"

"Well, Astronomy is really only at night, you know, and I've always loved that subject. And the Divination Tower will keep me away from the Nargles." Luna began humming as she braided some moss together. Hermione couldn't help but grin at the idea of Luna teaching either subject—she was sure there would be interesting stories from her students, indeed, although she did wonder why McGonagall had decided to continue offering the ridiculous subject of Divination.

"And of course Neville's going to be apprenticing with Professor Sprout," Hannah added. "So I'll be around a good deal, too." Hermione knew that the newly engaged couple was blissfully happy, and nearly inseparable, so she had no doubt that Hannah would be at Hogwarts every chance she could.

"Wow," Hermione said. "There are going to be rather a lot of us around the castle this year, aren't there?"

"That's not even the whole Hippogriff," Hannah added. "Mandy Brocklehurst, the Ravenclaw, is going to be taking on Arithmancy, Padma's doing Charms, Zacharias Smith and Justin Finch-Fletchley from our house are both going to be teaching, and the Weasley twins' friend—what's his name? Lee?—is going to be stepping in for History of Magic."

"Professor _Binns _is leaving?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"No, I doubt he ever will," Susan giggled. "Lee's going to be co-teaching—McGonagall said it was supposed to help bring 'new life' to the class, and anyway, Lee's as good an expert on the rise and fall of Voldemort as anyone, besides Harry or Dumbledore's portrait, anyway. Lee was the one who spearheaded Potterwatch."

"Imagine a portrait teaching a class," Luna mused.

"Wow," Hermione said again. There would certainly be a lot more changes to Hogwarts this year than she'd realized.

"Ernie says _Draco's _teaching Study of Ancient Runes," Susan said quietly. "What do you think that's going to be like? His father's still in Azkaban, isn't he?"

"Yes, but only for a year or so to finish out his earlier sentence," Hermione answered automatically. When three pairs of eyes turned to her, astonished, she hastened to explain. "None of the Malfoys were charged with anything after the war because both Narcissa and Draco lied to protect Harry at some point. Lucius' sentence was reduced on account of being essentially wandless for all the action." Hermione snickered; it was justice, of a sort, that he had been so unmanned during the last several months.

"Well, that's interesting," Hannah said. "I guess we'll have to see if Draco has had a change of heart or not."

"I'm guessing not," Hermione muttered. If he truly was returning to Hogwarts, she had no doubt that he would do his best to make her miserable.

"Ernie was just relieved when McGonagall said he'd be teaching Defense against the Dark Arts. He was afraid it'd be Potions." Susan reached out to pet the downy nose of the baby unicorn now sniffing her skirts.

"Neville was worried about the same thing," Hannah told her, twisting to look at the foal as well.

"Tell them they have no reason to be worried," Hermione grumbled. "She gave that job to me."

Silence reigned in the clearing for a moment before all three girls spoke at once.

"You're teaching _Potions_?"  
"I'm so sorry, Hermione, I didn't realize!"  
"I thought for sure you'd have Muggle Studies."

Shrugging, Hermione did her best to look unruffled. "I always did well in there, you know, it's just that Professor Snape never seemed to give me any credit for my work. I liked the subject reasonably well—the teaching methods notwithstanding."

"You're very brave," Hannah said. "Poor Neville can't even _look _at a cauldron without tensing up."

Before their conversation could continue, they heard the crashing in the underbrush that signaled Hagrid's arrival. The girls stood and brushed themselves off as he lumbered up, bearing a soft blanket and what appeared to be some wilted flowers.

"Alrigh' there, FieldStar?" he asked, bending down on one knee and gently petting the unicorn.

"She did wonderfully once we got the baby turned," Susan said before launching into a series of medical terms that Hermione did not know or care to understand. She produced a vial of unicorn blood and handed it to the giant. Hagrid nodded and asked questions here and there before examining the unicorn himself. In this setting, Hermione realized that he _was _actually a natural with animals, and it showed. He placed the wilted flower bouquet near FieldStar's head, and she nickered softly.

Turning to the baby, Hagrid held out the blanket. "Brough' this fer ya, little fellow."

The foal ambled forward on now-steady legs and nosed the blanket before taking it in his teeth and returning to his mum. Watching them, Hermione felt tears welling unaccountably in her eyes.

"It never gets old," Luna whispered in her ear. "I cry every time." The blonde drifted away from her then, moving to kneel next to Hagrid. "What shall you name him, Professor?"

"Ya don' need ter call me Pr'fesser, Luna, I've tol' ya that. An' you girls should name 'im, it's only righ'."

"Hermione can name him," Susan offered immediately. "We've all had a chance to name one already," she said to Hermione.

"Oh, I-I wouldn't feel right, I barely helped-"

"Don't be silly, of course you helped," Hannah interrupted her firmly.

Hermione stared at the tiny unicorn. Such a small thing as choosing a name was feeling, at the moment, extremely daunting. Just then, the creature sidled over to Hermione, staring up at her as though he knew she was deciding the fate of his name. Her heart melted a bit when he nuzzled her leg, but then she realized he had managed to discover some apple slices she had in her pocket from lunch. As the unicorn danced away with its prize, Hermione laughed.

"Well, that makes it easy," she announced. "He's Freddie, of course."

The others smiled and nodded their approval, and Hermione saw Hagrid wiping his eyes. They all said goodbye to FieldStar and Freddie before heading back to the castle. It was nearly dusk now and Hermione had no wish to be in the Forest come nightfall, with Hagrid or not. As they walked, Susan and Hagrid fell into a discussion about a follow-up visit with FieldStar, and Hermione remembered some of their earlier conversation.

"Hagrid," she said slowly, "why did you have Susan take a blood sample? I thought unicorn blood was cursed?"

"Nah, tha's jus' when ya kill a unicorn or take 'is blood by force," Hagrid replied gruffly. "Unicorns 'ave been known ter give their blood freely ter people who've helped 'em. Reckon it's like a gift, yer know? Anyway, mos' of 'em in the Forest've let me take a sample fer record-keepin'."

"I had no idea. So our first year, when Quirrell was killing those unicorns, he could have just—broken into the Hospital storeroom, instead?"

"Yep," Hagrid said. "Not a brigh' sort o' fellow, tha' one."

The group reached the edge of the Forest then, and Hannah and Susan were immediately greeted by Ernie and Neville, who appeared to have been quite worried. Locating Ron lounging on the steps of Hagrid's hut with Harry and Ginny, Hermione smiled to herself. No doubt after all they'd been through, Ron considered her well able to take care of herself in a place as 'tame' as the Forbidden Forest.

She had taken two steps towards her friends when she heard her name.

"Neville, good news—_Hermione's_ going to be Potions Master!" Hannah exclaimed.

Hermione froze, and so did a number of others. Ron, Harry, and Ginny looked up, surprised. Hermione grimaced when she remembered how she'd put off telling Ron earlier in the day. She'd meant to, really, but then there had been the situation with the unicorn...

"I didn't realize you'd gotten your Mastery over the past month, Hermione. Congratulations," Ginny called out, grinning.

"You know I didn't, Ginny," she answered, trying to keep her tone light. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, but she looked only at Ron. "But I _am _going to be teaching Potions this year while I work on my NEWTs."

Ron made a face. "Only you would want to work _and _go to school," he grumbled good-naturedly. "I guess you won't be bossing me around at Auror Training, then?" he asked, a shy smile touching his lips.

"You got in?" Hermione screeched. When Ron nodded and held up a piece of purple parchment, she launched herself at him. "Oh, Ron, that's wonderful, really wonderful, I'm so proud!"

"Always the tone of surprise," he laughed as he hugged her back. Hermione chuckled at their constant joke. "You're not upset?" he asked softly, so only she could hear.

"No, of course not. I know how much you wanted this," she answered earnestly. "And you're not upset with me? I was going to tell you after we finished working today-"

"I know. And no, I'm happy for you, Hermione. You'll be brilliant. Even if you are stuck in the dungeons with a bunch of dunderheads." He tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

Hermione grinned at him for a minute before remembering the other person that had applied for Auror Training. "Harry, did you-"

"Of course he did," Ginny stated proudly. "Kingsley could hardly turn down the boy who defeated Voldemort, could he?"

"I _really _wish you would say 'man', Ginny, not 'boy'," Harry groaned. Everyone laughed this time, and, feeling particularly happy, they all strolled back to the castle for dinner, chattering about the upcoming school year with a great deal more optimism than they'd had even a week ago.

* * *

**A/N: ****Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, indey101, katie9635, and youburnwithus for beta reading this chapter. The Ernie/Susan and Neville/Hannah relationships/backstories come from Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness by thanfiction. **

**I'm not JK Rowling.**


	7. Making Arrangements

**Chapter 7: Making Arrangements**

After dinner, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Ernie went to meet with Headmistress McGonagall, while the others Flooed or Apparated home for the night. Security around the castle was still fairly lax, since it was highly unlikely that any rogue Death Eaters would be returning to help with the repairs. Still, Hermione made a note to suggest to Headmistress McGonagall that she resurrect the anti-Apparation spells—Hermione had grown very accustomed to the safety and security of her own personal protection spells during her year on the run, and she was loath to relinquish them. She'd even been boosting the security spells at The Burrow every night before she went to bed.

Hermione trailed along behind the others, lost in thought. It wasn't until she ran into Neville's back that she realized they had come to a halt outside the Headmistress' office.

"Maybe we have to answer a question," Luna was saying.

"She didn't say anything to me," Ernie told her. They turned to look at Neville and Hermione.

"I'm rubbish with passwords, McGonagall knows that," Neville said sheepishly.

"It's 'Harry'," Hermione spoke up. The stone gargoyle stood and stepped aside, and the group moved forward to the staircase. "Which is completely ridiculous, if you ask me, though no one has," she added in an undertone.

Unfortunately, her words echoed all the way up the alcove, magnified for all to hear. Hermione felt her cheeks turn pink as three pairs of eyes turned to her. She supposed she had really let her mouth run away from her during their time on the hunt—that would be something she needed to work on before the school year started.

Luna smiled serenely and Hermione saw one of Ernie's eyebrows quirk in surprise as they reached the top of the staircase. Drat, now they had all heard her "speaking ill" of the savior of the Wizarding world. But honestly, Harry had hardly been alone all that time! Would it hurt anyone if the password to the Headmistress' office was perhaps "Hermione"?

"I will be certain to confer with you regarding my safety measures in the future, Miss Granger," a crisp Scottish voice said, and Hermione closed her eyes in mortification. This was _really _not going well, and now was _definitely _not the time to bring it up, but...

She opened her eyes and forged ahead. "Actually, Professor—I'm sorry, Headmistress—I did wish to speak with you regarding some of the enchantments for the castle, if we're all to be living here. Specifically, the anti-Apparation spells?"

Headmistress McGonagall merely nodded and gestured them all into her office. "Another time, perhaps, Miss Granger?" she asked, softening the words with a smile. Hermione strongly suspected that the chorus of coughs and throat clearings were actually disguised bursts of laughter, but she ignored the others.

She inwardly chastised herself for her inability to hold her tongue at inappropriate times. She would have to address that before she found herself standing in front of a classroom full of impressionable children. Hermione's thoughts were interrupted, however, and she froze as she crossed the threshold of the Headmistress' office because the figure slouched against the tall stone fireplace was so unexpected.

Draco Malfoy managed to appear both as though he owned the very room they stood in as well as though he felt entirely out of place. His robes were impeccable as always and his pale hair reflected the light from the fire. She remembered belatedly the rumor that he would be teaching something at Hogwarts with the rest of them—it appeared the rumor was true, then.

Noticing the way no one else seemed to want to move closer to him, Hermione took pity and strode forward purposefully. "Hello, Draco!" she greeted him with exaggerated exuberance. He raised one eyebrow questioningly at her, and Hermione resented his apparent disdain for her efforts. Stung a bit—after all, they'd saved his life _twice_ during the battle—she didn't stop when she neared him, but grabbed his hand in a friendly shake.

It was, perhaps, not the most graceful display of second chances, but Hermione hoped it would get her point across nonetheless—both to Draco and to the others. Feeling an awkward pat on her shoulder, she drew back to look at her childhood nemesis with determined cheer.

"Hello, Hermione!" he responded with an equally saccharine tone. She knew he was mocking her and her smile slipped. She was doing this for his benefit, couldn't he tell? Exasperating little ferret; why, she'd have him begging for mercy—

Remembering their audience, Hermione forced her smile back into place and moved to stand next to Draco. Headmistress McGonagall was observing the strange proceedings with an amused glint in her eyes but gave nothing away otherwise. To her great relief, Neville came forward next, holding his hand out to Draco. Draco's eyes flicked to Neville's many calluses before meeting the Gryffindor's gaze, and then the boys were shaking hands civilly if not good-naturedly. Luna was absorbed in the miniature solar system adorning one of the many tables in the room, and Ernie seemed to be doing his best to ignore the Slytherin student altogether. Hermione supposed it was a start, and all you could really ask for in this situation.

"Please take a seat while we wait for the others," Headmistress McGonagall announced when no more greetings were forthcoming. Hermione doggedly followed Draco to a pair of armchairs on the periphery of the room, ignoring the pointed looks of displeasure he was sending her way. As they were settling in, the fire blazed green and three more former students tumbled through: Zacharias Smith, Padma Patil, and a girl Hermione recognized but did not know by name.

McGonagall made quick introductions—the other girl turned out to be Mandy Brocklehurst—before sitting in her own chair and getting down to business. "Thank you all for coming this evening. On behalf of Hogwarts School and its Board of Governors, I would like to extend my gratitude for your willingness to return to the school in its time of need. Many of our professors have retired or left us for more somber reasons—" Hermione noticed Draco's shudder and wondered at its cause "—but regardless it has put me in something of a bind. I am most appreciative that so many of our brightest students will be with us for another year in the capacity of Hogwarts professors."

The Headmistress smiled at each of them in turn before continuing. "Now let us discuss your contracts. They are, of course, magically binding, but should you have the desire to leave your post at any point, please come see me and we can arrange it. I know that your lives have been disrupted far beyond anything I could imagine during this past year, and we at Hogwarts are happy to work with you in whatever way you may need, although we do hope you will enjoy your work here and perhaps elect to stay on beyond this year."

At this point, rolls of parchment were levitated to each of the students, and Hermione immediately began reading her contract while Headmistress McGonagall talked through it. She would be offered free lodging in the castle, which was honestly a relief. She loved the boys and Ginny, but the thought of sharing Grimmauld Place with the lot of them was frankly overwhelming. She would also have her food and teaching robes paid for by the school, and would be earning a small stipend. It wasn't much, but as Hermione was uncertain about her welcome at Gringotts just now, it was enough. She made a mental note to speak to the Goblin Liasion office to apologize for breaking in as Bellatrix Lestrange.

She would have one weekend off a month, and they would not be required to stay in the castle during holidays. Remembering her Christmas from last year, Hermione began to shiver uncontrollably. Suddenly a pale hand came to rest lightly on her arm, and she looked up at Draco in surprise. Her shivering stopped.

She began to say, "Thank—"

"Your tremors were distracting me," he said flatly, removing his hand. Scowling at him, Hermione decided that perhaps she would make _less _of an effort with Draco Malfoy once the school year started. His apparent refusal to accept her overtures of friendship was confusing, and quite frankly Hermione had enough other things on her mind to occupy her.

She fixed her attention on Headmistress McGonagall when the discussion turned to their NEWT schooling. They would all be taking the refresher course in August, and any students who felt up to the task of sitting their NEWTs directly afterwards would be able to do so. Neville and the Hufflepuffs were nodding in acceptance, but Hermione felt a keen sense of panic. She would hardly be ready for NEWTs in a matter of weeks—she had been absent from school for her whole seventh year, for Godric's sake!

"As for the students who will need more intensive schooling, we will be designing a half-year curriculum to fit into your schedules." McGonagall seemed to look directly at Hermione when she said this. "There are a number of you who were, through no fault of your own, unable to attend Hogwarts for your seventh year, and those of you will be sitting the NEWTs in December."

Somewhat relieved, Hermione allowed her shoulders to relax. She wondered if Luna would be taking the longer course, since she had apparently been abducted around Christmas. Hermione realized with a start that it would have interrupted Luna's sixth year, not seventh. Strange how easy it had become to think of Luna as one of them, but in truth, the girl was the same age as Ginny. Hermione hoped she wasn't in any remedial Defense classes with Ginny—she wasn't sure she'd be able to take on the fiery lieutenant of Dumbledore's Army. Hermione reminded herself again to focus on the Headmistress.

"Mr. Finch-Fletchley was unable to join us tonight, but he will be revitalizing the Muggle Studies course this year," the older woman was saying. Again, Hermione sensed Draco's shudder next to her, and she frowned in puzzlement.

"I'd have thought you'd want that job, Granger," Draco whispered to her. Hermione refused to dignify his comment with a response, instead straightening and attempting to look as though she was enthralled by what Headmistress McGonagall was saying.

"Mr. Jordan will be assisting with History of Magic on a part-time basis, and Mr. Smith will be our new Flying Instructor," McGonagall finished.

"That's a lot of Hufflepuffs," Draco announced in his irritating manner.

"Yes, they have responded admirably, haven't they?" the Headmistress answered, her tone firm. Draco smirked nastily.

Wondering if there was perhaps an opportunity to switch her assignment, Hermione asked tentatively, "Do you need a librarian?"

McGonagall's smile was kind but resolute. "I'm afraid not, Miss Granger. Irma Pince has assured me that she will stay on until she can no longer adequately perform her duties."

Offering a weak smile in return, Hermione slumped back into her seat. Potions it was, then. She wondered dispiritedly if Professor Snape had booby-trapped his private storeroom. She suspected he probably knew exactly who'd been stealing from him during her second year.

"There is one more thing I'd like to discuss before you leave," the Headmistress said. Hermione looked at her expectantly. "Miss Patil and Mr. Macmillan have graciously volunteered already, but I am in need of two Heads of Houses still. I was hoping that you, Mr. Malfoy, and you, Miss Granger, would be willing to step in?"

Hermione glanced warily at Draco before nodding her assent at the Headmistress. Draco reluctantly agreed, as well.

McGonagall clapped her hands together once and said excitedly, "Excellent. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, I hope you will take care to assist your charges in any way they may require this year. We have many broken students returning to us, and they will need all the affection and assistance we can offer."

"Headmistress? If I may ask, how will that work with my assigned course? The dungeon classroom comes with its own quarters, doesn't it, but the Head of Gryffindor is typically located in the tower-" Hermione broke off as a distinctly uneasy look appeared on McGonagall's face. Hermione did not like that look _at all_.

"Actually, Miss Granger, you would be the Head of Slytherin House."

Hermione exploded out of her chair at the same time as Draco, and they elbowed each other out of the way as they approached the Headmistress' desk.

"_Slytherin?!_"

"—she'll take points every chance she gets—"

"—biased, anti-Muggle-born prejudices—"

"—ungrateful know-it-all—"

"—subversive trouble-maker—"

"Enough!" The Headmistress' voice rang out with an authority born from years of supervising students, and Hermione and Draco both quieted, though neither returned to their seats.

"If you had given me a chance to continue, you would be aware that we are re-examining the way we handle Sorting at this school. At this time, myself, along with the Board of Governors, have deemed it a critical step towards promoting inter-House unity to assign Heads of Houses from _different _Houses. Miss Patil will be the Head of Gryffindor, Mr. Macmillan the Head of Ravenclaw, Miss Granger the Head of Slytherin, and Mr. Malfoy—"

"HUFFLEPUFF?" Hermione had never seen Draco's eyes pop out of his head as much as they were now, and she grinned broadly at his displeasure, forgetting her own assignment for the moment.

"Yes, you two, that is correct. Now please sit down!" McGonagall's command brooked no argument, and Hermione and Draco sank angrily into their chairs. "Much better. As I am _sure _you will agree, having a Head of House from a different House will allow the students—and the Head—the opportunity to get to know one another better, which can only help diminish prejudices."

"Yeah, and I'm hardly likely to take points from my own blasted House, am I? Even if they are a bunch of duffers," Draco growled. Ernie and Zach glared at Draco menacingly.

Headmistress McGonagall smiled. "Correct, Mr. Malfoy. We would like to abolish the practice of unfairly punishing other Houses simply for the rivalry."

Draco muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "my father will hear about this" but Hermione's attention was elsewhere.

"But Slytherin?" Hermione whimpered. "I'm already teaching Potions—"

"Which makes you a perfect fit for the position," McGonagall cut in firmly.

"No one else would take it, you mean," Hermione retorted, once again cursing her runaway tongue as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

McGonagall's lips twitched. "Precisely. Now then." The Headmistress stood and so did the students. "Please review your contracts in detail and owl me with any questions. I'll expect your signed parchments back by this time next week, and you may move in beginning August first. Good evening, and welcome aboard!"

As the others filed out of the room, Hermione remained in her seat, staring blankly at the dozing portrait of Dumbledore. How could she possibly be the Head of Slytherin House? She was Muggle-born, for goodness sake, and should be rejected from Slytherin on principle. Nevermind that she'd fought that particular prejudice since she was eleven—at this point, she feverishly hoped that the common room would refuse to admit her or something similar. Harry and Ron would never let her live this down.

* * *

"We're never going to let you live this down, Hermione," Harry laughed as she grumpily told them the story, _again_, of her meeting in McGonagall's office. They had met up in the Three Broomsticks after Hermione left the castle.

"I can't believe I'm dating the next Severus Snape," Ron joked. Hermione stiffened, the realization washing over her for the first time. She _would _be the next Severus Snape! Potions Master, Head of Slytherin, bat of the dungeons...

She must have groaned because Ron quickly apologized. "No, it's true," she sighed, resigned. "Maybe he'll have left a black robe that will fit me..." Another unwelcome realization reached her—she would have to _live_ in Professor Snape's old quarters. As if seeing him every night in her dreams wasn't enough!

But then she came to another conclusion. This would be the perfect opportunity to look through his school things for any evidence of a Horcrux. If she was living in his quarters and teaching his class, surely she would be able to find mention of _something _in a notebook or forgotten journal. Maybe this was the break she'd been looking for in disguise.

"You have to clean out his quarters, too?" Ginny's look of distaste made them all laugh, and the redhead excused herself to the bar to get their next round of drinks. Already laying out her plan of attack, Hermione nearly missed the significant look that passed between the boys.

"What was that look?" she asked suspiciously. Harry and Ron shifted nervously, and seemed to be fighting a battle of wills with their eyes. Ron lost.

He turned to face her and gently took her hands between his own larger ones. "Hermione, don't you think you ought to go find your parents before the school year starts?" He gripped her hands more tightly when she tried to pull back. "It's been weeks now, Hermione. I know you've had plenty of good reasons to wait, but—it's time," he urged her softly.

She looked at Ron's earnest expression, and Harry's sweetly encouraging one, then exhaled deeply. "I suppose you're right," she admitted. She had given little thought to her parents of late, because the memories were too painful, and, if she was totally honest with herself, she was afraid of what she'd find when she tracked them down.

"I'll go with you," Ron stated, placing a kiss on her forehead. "We can leave this weekend."

"Ew, Ron, stop pawing my friend in public, please," Ginny teased them as she returned to the table. The somber mood broken, the boys returned to their normal selves, laughing and telling stories about Dean's further attempts to rid the grounds of Acromantulas. Hermione put on a good front, but internally she spent the rest of the evening worrying about her actions and their effects on her parents.

* * *

"Explain to me again why you can't help me pack for our trip?" Hermione pleaded with Ron two days later.

"Auro'rie'tashion," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of pancakes.

"Auror Orientation," Ginny translated. "Harry's been talking about it all week." Ginny stuck her tongue out at Harry, and he grinned happily in response. Hermione's own lips tilted in a soft smile to see her best friend so carefree and _normal_.

She knew that Auror training was a bit of a sore spot with Ginny, who'd desperately wanted to join the boys. Molly and Arthur had insisted that she finish her schooling, however, and Ginny had reluctantly agreed. Hermione made a mental note to emulate the Weasleys' particular brand of child-rearing, should she ever have children: Molly had declared that no daughter of hers would be allowed to get married until she completed school, and as Ginny wanted to marry Harry more than she wanted to become an Auror, she really had no choice but to return to Hogwarts for a year.

Sighing, Hermione stared at her eggs and toast. She wanted to clean out her new chambers at the school before she turned her attention to their trip to Australia. The manual labor of cleaning and reorganizing the rooms should provide her with plenty of time to think, and perhaps she could look for a sign of the Horcrux while she was at it. She nearly asked Ron to help her, but then she remembered that he didn't know about her suspicions. And he was busy with Auror training, besides.

She supposed it would be best, really, if there was no one else present while she combed through Professor Snape's things, but she had been hoping for the sunny presence of someone else to help counteract the undoubtedly depressing atmosphere of the Potion Master's private quarters. She said goodbye to the Weasleys and wished the boys luck before Flooing to the school. Headmistress McGonagall was busily dictating letters at her desk and merely waved Hermione on when she stepped out of the fireplace.

"Password?" Hermione mouthed to the older woman. Surely Professor Snape's quarters were protected somehow, but the Headmistress just shook her head. Wondering if his spells had been disabled with his death, Hermione made her way briskly to the dungeons. It would be best for her to get this task out of the way, and besides, she admitted some excitement at the prospect of finding proof that her professor had indeed created a Horcrux.

Upon arriving at the Potions corridor, Hermione realized that she did not actually know where her professor's quarters were located. It was unlikely they connected to the classroom, so she approached his office door. Entering easily, she looked around. The walls were still covered floor to ceiling with the jars of pickled, slimy things. Shuddering, she pulled a piece of parchment from her bag and began a "to do" list. First up would be removing said slimy things and filling the office with books and flowers and pictures instead.

Looking around the room with a critical eye, she spotted the door leading into Professor Snape's private storeroom. She was curious, but her drive to find evidence of a Horcrux won out, and she approached a second, more obscure door set into the wall between two cabinets. When she came close, the door glowed an electric green, and she was frozen in place.

"Name?" a cold, deep voice inquired. Hermione's arms erupted in goosebumps at the familiar cutting tone. It was bizarre to hear Professor Snape speaking to her—outside of her nightly visions, anyway.

"Her-Hermione Gr-Gr-Granger," she managed as chills raced up her spine.

"Purpose?" the uninterested door asked her.

"Um..." She wondered briefly if she should go find Headmistress McGonagall, but she remembered that the enchantment was currently holding her in place. "I'm the n-new Potions professor," she croaked feebly.

For a moment, nothing changed; then, the color around the door switched to a pale lavender, and her own voice rang out in the quiet room: "Hello, Hermione," the door said as the light faded and it swung open. "Wishing you a productive and efficient day!"

The force holding her in place released and she stumbled forward into what were now evidently her quarters. Thankful that she would not be confronted with _that _particular voice on a daily basis (_Yes, only on a nightly basis, _her inner voice drawled), she entered the rooms and glanced around.

Apparently, Professor Snape's rooms had not been touched by anyone but herself since his death several weeks ago. There were books and magical objects crammed onto every available surface, and absolutely everything was coated in a thick layer of dust. She would have to clean before she could begin her search, that was certain. Reminding herself that she had faced worse—really, cleaning up after two boys in a tent for a year should have earned her a medal—she buckled down and began her work, making sure not to disturb the placement of any of her former professor's things. She worked quickly because she could hardly wait to begin looking in depth for her ultimate prize.

Several hours later, however, found Hermione flopped onto the floor, a hysterical laugh escaping her lips. Her arm came up to rest across her eyes as the laugh turned into a groan.

_Look at me, _she thought dispiritedly. _Lying on the floor of his empty room, searching for something that probably doesn't exist. _

Lowering her arm, she stared up at the ceiling, trying to think of somewhere else to explore, another revealing charm to try. Nothing came to mind. She had to admit defeat—there was nothing concealed here. She had been crawling around the floor, looking for a hiding place, in vain. The ridiculous laughter threatened to overwhelm her again.

She sat up with a bone-deep sigh. How was it that locating one measly Horcrux was turning out to be much more difficult than finding and destroying _four _of the blasted things?

Even as she thought it, she knew what the difference was: this Horcrux belonged to a man much more complex than Voldemort had ever been. _That_ wizard was almost comically two-dimensional: power-hungry and evil. It had made his selection of Horcruxes rather easy to figure out, once they had some background information. And what was more—it had made the wizard himself, well, predictable.

But _this_ wizard—the one whose Horcrux she was now hunting—was likely the most complicated man on the planet, and it was undisputed that no one, not even she, knew much of anything about him. Severus Snape had been enigmatic in life, and was proving to be just as incomprehensible in death.

However...there was no one with more stubborn determination than Hermione Granger. With that thought, she picked herself up from the floor in Professor Snape's old quarters, dusted her robes off, and gave the room one last glance before shutting the door firmly behind her. She would have plenty of time to sift through his belongings when she returned from Australia.

* * *

**A/N: ****Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, and katie9635 for beta reading this chapter. **

**I'm not JK Rowling.**


	8. Australia

**Chapter 8: Australia**

Rechecking her packing list for the fifteenth time in two minutes, Hermione finally conceded that she couldn't put this off any longer. Gripping Ron's hand tightly, she automatically held out her other hand for Harry. When no hand was placed immediately in hers, however, she realized her mistake and quickly returned her hand to her side. Glancing up at Ron, she noticed that he was watching her empty hand with an odd expression. Then he looked up, and their eyes connected for the space of a heartbeat before they spun into the crushing darkness.

Stumbling to their knees on an abandoned hillside, the two of them gasped for breath and stood even as they refused to relinquish their hold on the other's hand. Huddling close, Hermione pulled out her enchanted map and quickly located their dots exactly where they were meant to be—a rural area just outside of Dover.

"Haven't we been here before?" Ron asked, looking around, his face scrunched in thought.

"Yes—we would have been here in the autumn, perhaps? It was sometime before you left us," Hermione murmured, replacing the map in her bag distractedly.

At the sharp intake of breath from Ron, Hermione's reflexes had her wand drawn and her feet in battle stance before she even realized that they were in no danger. Relaxing, she looked at him, only then seeing the flash of pain crossing his features. At once her words repeated in her mind and she grimaced. "I'm sorry, Ron, I wasn't thinking. It's just—mentally, I divide our year on the run by major events, and when you left, well, that was really the most devastating thing that happened to me the whole—"

Ron silenced her with a finger on her lips, and his remorse was evident in his clear blue eyes. "I know. I reckon I shouldn't be so sensitive about it still. I should never have—"

Hermione knew Ron was about to castigate himself for leaving them yet again. Not wanting to ruin their trip with her ill-timed comment, she interrupted him with something guaranteed to make him laugh. "Ron Weasley, sensitive? What is our world coming to?" She grinned at him, hoping to convey that she actually _did _think he was sensitive...sometimes, anyway.

Ron returned her smile, but the hint of sadness was still present in his eyes. Hermione wondered how long he was going to punish himself for that one moment of weakness. So many things had happened in the intervening time that she barely spared a thought for that cold night in the tent anymore, but it was clear that Ron needed to forgive himself and move past it still.

"Weird, being without Harry, isn't it?" Ron asked conversationally, clearly attempting to change the subject. Hermione nodded in agreement and tried to tamp down the lingering feelings of danger and unease that came with being apart. It was easier when they were at the Burrow or Hogwarts and could easily locate one another; but this was the furthest apart they had been from one another in ages and she suspected that neither she nor Ron cared for the feeling much.

"I suppose we'd better go," Hermione said. Still gripping hands, they Apparated without a word, this time landing in Calais. Hermione announced that they would take a short break, as she absolutely hated the feeling of Apparating over a body of water. So much could go wrong. Reassuring herself that they had all their body parts, Hermione offered Ron a sip of some water she'd packed in a camping bottle. He blanched when he saw the worn rubber flask that had traveled with them all last year, but he closed his eyes and took a drink anyway.

The bottle wasn't the only memory assaulting her now. When she had visited France with her parents several summers ago, they'd landed just here—in Calais. The smell of the salty air, the crash of the waves on this particular shore: happy memories of her parents were bombarding her at an extremely quick rate, and she felt her knees buckling.

Sinking into the sand, Hermione covered her face with her hands. "What have I done?" she wailed, the sound nearly swallowed by the roar of the water.

Warm hands pried her own away from her face, and Ron was kneeling directly in front of her, his features set in a determined look. "You did what you had to do," he whispered fiercely. "You _know _that, Hermione; you just keep forgetting it. Come on, we have a lot of traveling to do, and at the end you'll be reunited with your parents."

Nodding weakly, Hermione was grateful for Ron's steadfast assurances. He handed her back the camping bottle and she took a drink of the cool water. Refreshed, Hermione checked her travel itinerary again while Ron lounged on the sandy beach in the small cove they'd landed in. Apparating across the country was one thing; traveling halfway around the world was another. The huge endeavor had taken her nearly six hours when she'd done it on her own last summer, scouting for a good sort of city for her parents to live in. She hoped they hadn't moved in the year since she'd left them...

_Had it only been a year? _Hermione paused, gazing out at the English Channel as she remembered the sheer terror of last summer. Their futures had been so uncertain; Harry hadn't even known where to start on their hunt for the Horcruxes. Hermione had known one thing for sure, though, and that was that her parents would be in grave danger if they stayed in England. She hadn't wanted them to suffer a fate similar to Neville's parents, so together with Ron, she'd hatched her plan to alter their memories.

She could still remember the last conversation she'd had with her parents before Obliviating them. It had been a silly discussion, really: Hermione's mum had made an offhanded comment about one of the Beatles, and Hermione's dad had started to tease her. He'd asked Hermione if _she _thought he was less handsome than George Harrison, too. Smiling at her parents' antics, Hermione had assured her father that he was better looking than all the Beatles combined, and the resulting family hug had brought tears to her eyes that she'd refused to explain to her parents. It was one of her best and saddest memories of them.

Discreetly swiping at the moisture in her eyes now, Hermione reminded herself that she could have that closeness again, and more, if she could only make it to Australia. Folding her map away, Hermione looked over to where Ron was busy making a sand castle. She smiled as she watched a strong breeze take out the tallest turret, and she laughed out loud when Ron cursed. Abashed, he glanced up at her, and the smile he gave her made her heart skip a beat. He had always made her feel better, even when he wasn't trying.

Squatting down next to him, Hermione felt content for the first time since she'd decided it was time to face her parents. "Maybe we could just stay here—"

"'And grow old together'?" Ron mimicked her words to Harry in the Forest of Dean, but there was no malice in his tone.

"He told you about that?" Hermione mumbled.

"We had a bit of a chat, yeah," Ron replied. "Listen. You can't just hide out in abandoned places when you're nervous, Hermione," he said softly, understanding in his eyes.

She sighed and sat down fully. "I know. But it's a nice thought, isn't it?" They stared out over the gently rolling water for several moments before Ron spoke again.

"You know...if it doesn't go well tomorrow, I can always Obliviate _you _so you don't remember it," he offered. Grinning wryly, Hermione held out her hand for Ron's.

"Thank you, but no. I saw what your wand did to Professor Lockhart." Ron's indignant response was muffled as she searched in her bag for her hairbrush. Locating it, she stood and tapped it with her wand, murmuring "Portus." The brush glowed blue for a moment, and Hermione held it out to Ron, who looked baffled.

"When did you have time to get all the Portkey authorizations?" he asked her. "We've been together nearly all week and I don't remember you mentioning them."

Hermione dropped her eyes to the brush and cleared her throat. "Er, I didn't exactly...get any authorizations," she said hurriedly, daring a small peek up at Ron. He was looking at her like he'd never seen her before.

"You're using _unauthorized _Portkeys? Who _are _you?" Ron was scratching his head and laughing. Hermione gave him a tentative smile in return.

"Well, it's hardly as though the Ministry's going to tell me 'no,' is it?" she asked. "I didn't want to explain my situation to someone in the travel office, so I just..."

"Went to the library and learned how to do it yourself?" Ron finished for her. Hermione nodded, laughing now. "You're something else, Hermione," he sighed, gripping the other end of the brush. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Hermione's reply was lost as the brush glowed blue, and they spun away into the air.

* * *

From Calais, there were ten more stops before Hermione and Ron reached Cairns in the northern part of Australia. With each leg of the journey, the two grew more and more exhausted. Even using a Portkey, international Wizarding travel was physically taxing, and Hermione was relieved when they finally fell to the ground in Queensland. Each time she illegally activated another Portkey, Ron had jokingly chided her. She knew that he was trying to keep her mind off the meeting with her parents that was looming, so she did her best to joke back, but as the trip wore on, she became quieter and quieter. At their stop in Singapore, she hadn't even responded at all.

Now that they were in Australia, Hermione's nerves were wound even tighter. She simultaneously dreaded and looked forward to reuniting with her parents after restoring their memories. She was afraid, however, that they would not look kindly on her actions, no matter how good her intentions had been. Ron seemed to sense her mood, for he became more solemn, as well, talking only to ask her if she was hungry or needed a rest.

It was early morning now, thanks to the amount of time it had taken them to travel here. Hermione suggested getting some sleep at a nearby hotel, and Ron happily agreed. Setting off down the road into town, Hermione was already planning their next move. When she'd modified her parents' memories, she'd pointed them towards the area of Chelsea, to the southeast of Melbourne. It was Hermione's one link to their previous lives, situating them in a place that would remind her, at least, of home in England. It was her only place to start now—if they'd moved, she didn't know what she'd do.

Hermione and Ron didn't bother disguising themselves at the hotel. No one knew them here, and the days of hiding from Dark wizards were thankfully past. They fell into bed and were soon asleep.

* * *

_Find me._

The black eyes glared at her angrily, but the bloody, grasping hand seemed to be reaching for her as though from a great distance.

_Find me..._

Hermione sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. As her reflexes calmed, she slid back down under the covers, shaking off the eerie dream as she usually did.

A warm hand came to rest about her waist, and Ron murmured, "Your nightmare?"

Sighing, Hermione nodded, then realized he wouldn't be able to see it in the darkness of their room. "Yes. I'm sorry for waking you," she whispered.

"'S alright. Any time, Hermione, you know that," Ron mumbled sleepily, yawning as he snuggled closer behind her. Hermione patted his arm where it laid across her stomach and waited for the sound of Ron's even breaths. Only once he had fallen asleep again did she relax enough to close her eyes and attempt to get some sleep as well.

* * *

Waking before Ron the next morning, Hermione watched the sunrise out of their window. The quiet calm of early mornings was her favorite time of day: it always had been. She remembered slipping downstairs to the kitchen in the mornings when she was little. Her dad had been an early riser, too, and they'd often spent mornings in companionable silence, watching the same sun rise half a world away. Of course, he wouldn't have those memories now...

Hermione felt a tear slide down her cheek, and she wiped it away, frustrated. The memories weren't gone forever, just hidden, and it had been for their own protection. She would _not _feel bad now for making the best decision she could at the time. Her parents loved her; they would understand.

Ron shifted in the bed, and Hermione left the window to slip back under the covers with him. Even though she felt foolish for admitting it, Ron was her rock. His scent, the color of his hair, the intensity of his gaze when he didn't think she was looking—everything about him soothed, calmed, and comforted her. Since he'd returned to the tent that cold night in December, they had barely left each other's sides, and when they were apart, Hermione couldn't help the anxious feeling that lodged in the pit of her stomach.

She smoothed one hand over his brilliantly-hued hair and studied the freckles on his face. If pressed, she thought she could probably replicate them all exactly from memory. Certainly, she could draw a map of the scars on his body, for she had personally healed most of them. Sighing, Hermione rested her hands under her chin, wondering what the future held for them. He had been one of her best friends for almost seven years now, but at some point he had come to represent her feelings of safety and security.

She was being maudlin. It was no doubt the uncertain outcome of their trip that had her so contemplative. She needed to snap out of it or else she'd languish in this hotel forever. Hermione tentatively placed a hand on Ron's shoulder, shaking gently and whispering his name.

"That's no way to wake a man up," Ron groused as he cracked one eye open to look at her.

"It worked, didn't it?" Hermione answered softly. Ron swiftly shut his eye and pretended to remain asleep. "Ron!" Hermione laughed. "Come on, we'd better get going." But he kept his eyes firmly shut, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. _Well, two can play at this game. _

Hermione trailed the hand on his shoulder down to his wrist, then deftly slid her hand under his t-shirt and up his chest. Ron's eyebrows raised but still his eyes remained closed. Hermione began to kiss the side of his neck where it met his jaw as her hand continued its caress. For good measure, she threw one leg over his hip and nestled herself as closely as she could. Ron moaned happily.

"Still asleep?" she murmured. There was no response. "I guess I'll have to try harder," she answered herself playfully. Withdrawing her hand from his shirt to give him a shove on the shoulder, Hermione rolled Ron onto his back. She quickly straddled his hips and noted with pleasure that he had forgotten to pretend to be asleep. Hermione gave him no chance to savor the view before she attacked his lips with hers.

"Now _that _is how you wake a bloke up," he rasped in her ear, his voice still rough with sleep. She closed her eyes and just enjoyed the sensations that Ron was provoking in her. No matter how often or how infrequently they kissed, it was always the same myriad of feelings. Wonder, lust, comfort, pleasure—they knew each other beyond words.

As they lay in bed, entwined, Hermione's rational brain returned, even as she fought it. They had delayed the morning's task; but the reason they were even here at all crashed over her, smothering her in its inevitability. She felt all her famed Gryffindor courage desert her as she contemplated getting up.

"Fancy another snog?" she asked Ron, hoping her voice came out as seductively as it sounded in her mind. Rather than pounce on her like she'd hoped, Ron raised himself up on one elbow and gazed at her intently.

"We can't stay in this room forever, Hermione," he murmured. Drat the boy; he had to choose _this moment _to become more perceptive?

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Why not?" she whined, aware that she was acting entirely unlike herself. "And since when have you ever turned down—"

"Whoa, now, I'm not turning anything down," Ron hastily assured her. "I just want you to know that you can't distract me with your kisses _all _day." Hermione harrumphed and glared at Ron. He kissed the furrow on her brow tenderly as he rubbed soft circles on her side. "They're your parents, Hermione. Everything will be fine." He rested his forehead against hers, and Hermione could not resist the comforting surety in the bright blue eyes. She smiled as she thought back on all the times that Ron's steady belief had gotten them through some scrape or another.

"If you say so," she agreed finally. She started to slide towards the edge of the bed, but Ron grabbed her arm.

"I thought you weren't quite done here?" His impish grin was enough to distract her from her worries for a while longer.

* * *

After a late breakfast, Hermione and Ron finally made their way onto a busy street in the middle of Chelsea. Hermione was assaulted with memories at nearly every turn: here was the little café where her parents had stopped to ask for directions; here was the realtor's office they'd used to rent a house; here was the bench they'd sat on, excitedly congratulating themselves on finally making the move. By the time Hermione arrived at their rented home, her nerves were extremely frayed.

She rang the bell, and her heart fell when a portly old gentleman answered the door.

"Hello?"

"Hello, sir," Hermione croaked, her throat dry with nervousness. She hastily swallowed several times. "I'm looking for my...old nanny, Monica Wilkins? I had thought she lived here..." She knew it would seem odd if she asked for her parents, since a child should know where her parents lived. Besides, Wendell and Monica didn't know they had a child.

"Oh yes, Monica and Wendell!" Hermione's spirits rose when the old man broke into a grin. "Lovely people. They moved out of here, oh, three months ago? We were fortunate to be able to rent this place so quickly after we moved here. Wendell and Monica were extremely considerate, even gave the whole place a fresh coat of paint before we moved in." He smiled broadly at Hermione.

"How nice," she agreed. "Um, sir, do you happen to know where they moved to?"

"I'm afraid not," he answered. Hermione's shoulders slumped and she battled back her tears. She was about to thank the older man anyway when he spoke again. "But I think my wife does—MILLIE!"

A short, stout woman covered in flour came hurrying out of the kitchen. "My goodness, Chester, what on earth are you yelling about?"

Chester pointed at Hermione and Ron. "These young people came to see Monica, dearie, and I thought you had her new address somewhere."

"Oh, of course! You must be some of her former patients; it's obvious, you both have such nice smiles! Come in, come in." Belatedly, Hermione realized that _of course _her parents were dentists here, too. Luckily, Chester didn't seem to have noticed her slip when she'd asked about her nanny.

Thirty minutes later, Hermione and Ron had finally managed to extricate themselves from Millie and Chester's home. They hadn't been able to refuse tea and biscuits after Millie had graciously drawn them a map to Wendell and Monica's, and the older couple was terribly happy to entertain some "youngsters."

"That was interesting," Ron mumbled as they set off down the street. He was still munching on a biscuit that Millie had insisted he take with him.

"Staying for tea was really the least we could do," Hermione answered. "And you didn't seem to mind." She eyed the crumbs on his shirt deliberately. Ron just shrugged and laughed. They walked for about twenty minutes before reaching the cross street that Millie had said would take them to her parents' new neighborhood. It seemed their dental business had been successful enough for them to buy a home. Hermione felt a pang of jealousy when she realized that their new house would not contain a room for _her_.

"If you want, we can just watch them for now," Ron offered. Hermione slanted a glance at him, not certain what he meant. "You know...Disillusion ourselves or something and observe, then come back for real tomorrow. So you know what you're walking into."

"Maybe...maybe that would be best," Hermione answered. She knew she was delaying their confrontation, but the cowardly part of her was making its presence known, and Ron's suggestion seemed like the best idea just now.

They finally found the neat little cottage that Millie had described to them. Number 47 Rose Hill was nestled on a street full of tidy little homes with bright window shutters and overflowing gardens. As Hermione stood, invisible, gazing at the house, tears began to fall down her face.

"They remember me," she whispered, and Ron leaned closer to hear what she was saying. "Obviously not fully, but—roses have always been my favorite flower, and look—all their window boxes are planted with peach roses. I always brought my mum peach roses on her birthday." She swiped at the moisture on her face and grinned broadly. "They still recognize me, Ron! Deep down, they know!"

Ron seemed to think she was grasping at straws, but he made no comment. Hermione remained where she was for a moment longer, still dazed that they might have subconsciously acknowledged their daughter. The presence of the peach roses gave her the strength she needed to approach the little house.

Bypassing the front door and making her way quietly to the rear of the house, Hermione's ears pricked as the murmurs of conversation reached her. Stepping into the sunny backyard, Hermione's knees buckled as she looked at her parents for the first time in a year. Ron grabbed her elbow to hold her up, but she barely noticed, her eyes locked on the two people in front of her.

Her father had cut his hair shorter, choosing to crop it close to his head, no doubt in response to the warmer temperatures of his new country. He was also slightly tanner, but he remained otherwise unchanged. Hermione's mother looked softer, somehow; her face was slightly rounder and her hair contained a few more strands of gray. Hermione pressed a hand to her lips to prevent any sounds from slipping out as she watched them greedily, trying to soak in all the details she hadn't realized she'd missed.

"Did I tell you, Wendell, the grocer down the street is charging an outrageous price for oranges? I'm glad we decided to plant those trees when we moved in, maybe we can set up a small stand at the next market..."

As Hermione's parents discussed their small cluster of orchard trees and then moved on to talk of their vegetable garden, Hermione's relief at seeing her parents whole and happy began to ebb away, replaced by a deep sense of unease. In all her planning, all her agonizing over whether she'd done the right thing, all her worry that she would fail to undo the damage she'd caused—never once had she considered that her parents might simply be happier continuing to live as they were: Wendell and Monica. Monica and Wendell. Dentists from Britain who had moved halfway across the world in pursuit of their dreams.

Childless.

A new fear gripped Hermione, and she swore her heart froze in her chest. Would she be doing them a disservice by restoring their memories? Would they return to England with her, bitter and resentful that she had turned up and put an end to their lifelong dream, their idyllic lifestyle? She began to suck in great, gasping breaths, and Ron quickly pulled her back into the tangled growth along the side of the house.

"Hermione? What—"

She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and burying her head in his neck, trying to shut out the voices that were now yelling, screaming at her to just leave her poor parents alone. _Haven't you put them through enough? _the voices asked her snidely. She felt like her body was outside of her control, her lungs unable to draw in enough air and her heart hammering at speeds that surely could not be safe.

Two strong, warm hands began to stroke slowly up and down her back, and a deep voice was rumbling soothing words into her hair. Her body responded to his ministrations, calming itself despite the turmoil in her mind. His hands never altered their pace, and he continued to murmur sweetly against her hair as her panic receded.

"Take me home, please," she whispered once she felt she could open her mouth without vomiting. Ron tightened his arms around her and Apparated them back to the calming anonymity of their rented hotel room.

* * *

It was dusk before Hermione roused herself from bed and padded over to sit next to Ron on the small sofa in their room. After returning from her parents' house, Hermione had begged Ron to put all her thoughts out of her mind, and they had kissed tenderly before she'd fallen into a deep sleep.

Folding her legs up on the couch with her, she smiled sheepishly at Ron. "Well, that didn't quite go as expected," she murmured.

Ron turned on the couch so they were facing and grasped her hand between his own. "Went just like I expected, actually," he disagreed. "Although I figured it would take us at least another day to find them at all."

Hermione's smile grew broader and they both lapsed into silence, lost in their own thoughts. Hermione was still torn about her decision to reverse the Memory Charm she'd placed on her parents. Would it truly be the best thing to do? Or would it be best to leave them as Wendell and Monica Wilkins...to let them go forever? Hermione didn't know if she was strong enough to do that now, even though it had been a definite possibility last summer.

Sighing, she pushed the doubts to the back of her mind. She didn't have to do anything right now; she and Ron had blocked off two weeks in the event that they had trouble locating her parents right away. Hermione focused her gaze on the boy—no, man—sitting across from her. He'd been so amazing on this trip, never complaining, constantly buoying her spirits. Hermione acknowledged that she could never have come here on her own, and Ron's presence was the only thing keeping her roiling emotions in check.

It occurred to her for the first time that she had required a great deal of emotional fortitude from Ron lately, and ashamedly, she couldn't remember doing the same for him. She was horrified to realize that her hysterics today must seem overblown—he had lost his _brother_ not long ago, and here she was, crying because her parents had orange trees. But that was what made Ron so, well, _Ron_—she knew instinctively that he would never try to claim that his suffering was worse than anyone else's. It was one of the reasons she loved him so.

_But do you love him enough? _a questioning voice whispered. Indignant, she immediately answered herself, _Of course I do! _But then she paused. Did she love Ron in the way he deserved to be loved, for the rest of their lives? They hadn't made any plans beyond the immediate future, and Hermione thought they were both okay with that. But was he? She didn't know. For so long, their mission with Harry had been more important than anything else. Then, after the battle, their mingled grief and exhilaration had consumed every waking moment. Here, though, thousands of miles away from home, they finally had a chance to figure out what the future held for them.

Noticing then that Ron was distractedly twirling a small maroon box in his hands, Hermione stiffened. It looked like...but surely not...they hadn't discussed _marriage_. Frantically calculating whether she could make it to the door before he managed to grab her, Hermione wondered if he was intending to propose right this minute or whether he was waiting for some opportune moment. She smoothed a hand over her hair while she tried to formulate a plan of action. If she could only slip into his mind to discover what he was thinking...

No. It would never work. She had tried to teach herself Legilimency while they were on the run, to no avail. She was dreadfully clumsy at it. The one time the boys had allowed her to practice on them, they'd both complained that she'd assaulted their brains. It still irritated Hermione that she had failed to master such an advantageous skill, but she at least thought she was a decent Occlumens. After Ron's run-in with the Snatchers, Hermione had thought that Occlumency would be useful if they were captured. Dumbledore's books on Dark Magic had sections devoted to the practice and Hermione studied the theories extensively before they began. Harry had provided the few tips he'd remembered from his failed sessions with Professor Snape, and the three of them attempted to practice together.

Not surprisingly, Harry and Ron gave it up as useless after a try or two. She'd taken to Occlumency far more easily, and she suspected that perhaps she always Occluded naturally a bit, owing to her private nature. She spent her hours on look-out practicing emptying her mind, and she had tried to control her emotions while she was wearing the locket. It was all she could do, really, but she thought she had mastered it well enough to be passable. After all, Bellatrix had haphazardly attempted to sift through her mind when the Cruciatus didn't seem to produce the results she wanted. Of course, Hermione didn't think that Bellatrix was a very good Legilimens, so she was uncertain whether it was her own skill or Bellatrix's lack thereof that had saved the day, but in any case Hermione's tale of the sword being a fake had managed to convince the deranged Death Eater.

But none of that was going to help her now. She needed to know what Ron was thinking; being able to block out her thoughts was only good for making her sound less panicked than she actually was.

"Uh, Ron?" she asked timidly, afraid to find out exactly what was in the small jeweler's box. "What—what do you have there?" She hated how shrill her voice sounded, but her heart had leapt into her throat and was causing all manner of problems.

Ron jerked out of his reverie and looked at his hands, apparently just as surprised as Hermione to see the box there. He hastily tried to return it to his pocket, but Hermione stayed him with one hand on his wrist.

Grimacing at her, Ron relented. "Mum forced it on me before I left," he admitted, confirming Hermione's fears. "I told her we were on a rescue mission, not a romantic getaway, but she insisted I take it. You know...just in case."

They sat in silence while Hermione processed this information. It took all her courage, but she finally asked, "Do you—do you want to get married?"

Ron coughed and began to turn red. "Well, yeah, I mean, eventually, I'd like to, but it's not my top priority, you know. Not that it couldn't be my top priority, if you wanted—"

"NO!" Hermione burst out. "I mean, ah, no. It's not a top priority for me, either. Not right now. Eventually...eventually sounds good."

"Yeah. Eventually. Brilliant." Ron sounded both relieved and self-deprecating. They lapsed into silence again, Ron nervously running his hands through his hair and Hermione inwardly chastising herself for making this so awkward.

This was _Ron_, one of her best friends. She could talk to him about anything—couldn't she? There was no reason for her to feel so discomfited by the notion of getting engaged. Engagement wasn't marriage, after all. Nothing would have to change, not right away. And didn't she want to spend the rest of her life with Ron? She did, of course she did. She shouldn't feel so off-balance, and yet, this entire discussion had her feeling vaguely ill again.

"Want to grab a bite to eat before we turn in for the night?" he asked, his eyes lighting up at the promise of food.

Hermione agreed, though she spent the entire meal troubled and confused.

* * *

**A/N: A few things. This is going to be a long story, so I encourage you to hang in there. I felt compelled to wrap up a few canon storylines before delving into my Hermione/Severus AUish-plot, and I'm sorry if you were looking for something quicker. With that being said...this IS going to be a Hermione/Severus story, even though it may not seem that way just now. :) **

**From this chapter forward, a racier version of this story is being posted at Ashwinder, so if you are 18 or older and would like more smutty goodness, I invite you to sign up there. I'm under the same penname.**

**Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, and katie9635 for beta reading this chapter, AND for encouraging me to rewrite it in a way that made more sense. ****As always, I am not JK Rowling and make no claims to own Harry Potter.**


	9. The Grangers

**Chapter 9: The Grangers**

The next day, Hermione and Ron wasted very little time after they woke. Hermione hadn't slept much; during the night she'd decided it would be best to remove her parents' Memory Charms and go from there. If they seemed truly reluctant to return to their old lives, then...well, then Hermione could recast the charm and leave them in peace, even if it destroyed her to do so. As they dressed and ate, Hermione noticed Ron casting curious glances in her direction, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. She was afraid that their awkwardness from last night would taint today, and she was hesitant to bring up the subject of their eventual marriage first. She supposed she'd have to face it at some point, however. _Parents first, then Ron, _she chanted to herself. It would have to wait.

She decided to Apparate them directly to her parents' house before she could lose her nerve. Ron's grip on her hand never lessened one bit as they approached the front door, and Hermione knocked tentatively. Almost immediately, the door was flung open and Hermione found herself face to face with her mum. Ron's gentle tug on her hand was the only thing keeping her from throwing herself into her mum's arms.

That, and the fact that the former Mrs. Granger was looking at Hermione with a pleasant but cautious expression, one reserved for strangers.

"H-Hello, M-Mrs. Wilkins, I'm—" Hermione stopped. How was she supposed to introduce herself? Should she use her real name? And how would she explain knowing _Monica's _name? Gods, why had she never thought this far ahead? It was so unlike her.

"Good afternoon," Ron jumped in smoothly. "We're with the Chelsea Horticulture Society and we couldn't help but notice the fine specimens of roses that you have growing in your window boxes. Might we come in and ask a few questions about your gardening methods?" Hermione nearly sagged with relief when Monica's eyes lit up and she invited them in eagerly. Hermione squeezed Ron's hand in thanks.

"Yes, yes, come in! Let me call my husband, we're both avid gardeners you know, he will be so pleased that someone's admiring his roses!" She bustled off and returned a few moments later, a sweaty and grubby Wendell in tow. "He's been out in the yard just now. We recently acquired some orange trees if you've any interest in those!"

Ron nodded encouragingly at Hermione as her parents made themselves comfortable. "Actually, Mr. and Mrs. Gra—Wilkins, that's not entirely the truth. We're here for a different reason." As her parents looked on in curious confusion, Hermione took a deep breath, slid her wand out of her pocket, and began to mutter the series of spells that would hopefully unlock their memories. At first the two adults seemed mystified by her actions, but slowly, realization dawned in their features. As Hermione finished the incantations, her mum reached out a hand.

"Hermione?" she whispered, and then the two women were hugging and crying frantically, incoherent words escaping their lips as they clutched each other. Mr. Granger was staring at Hermione, dumbfounded, and then he was encircling his wife and daughter in his arms—just as they'd always done. Hermione had never felt such joy before in her life.

Finally, they pulled apart enough for Hermione to glance at Ron. He had sat himself on the couch, quietly allowing the family to reconnect. Hermione mouthed "thank you" to him and he smiled as he gestured for her to talk to her parents. Stepping back slightly, Hermione brushed the tears off her face and hungrily looked her parents over, trying to absorb every detail. They were doing the same to her, and Hermione cringed when she thought about what they'd see. She needed to explain before they jumped in with questions.

Gently sitting them back down, Hermione and Ron spent the next thirty minutes filling her parents in on the events of the past year. Whenever Hermione became too distraught to continue, Ron would jump in. By unspoken agreement, they glossed over their experience at Malfoy Manor. Hermione didn't want her parents to have to deal with that, ever. Eventually their story wound down, and Hermione held her breath as her parents considered everything they'd been told. Their reactions would go a long way towards telling Hermione what her next course of action would be.

"Why didn't you tell us, lambkin?" her father asked softly, using his old nickname for her. "We could have—"

"We could have what, Robert?" Hermione's mum asked, addressing her father by his real name but never taking her eyes off Hermione. "Rushed up to her school? Waved our hands and made it all go away?" She shook her head forcefully. "Hermione did what she thought was best. We raised her to be a smart, independent woman; someone who looks out for others and acts selflessly. We can hardly be upset now that she's turned out exactly that way."

Hermione's father looked like he still wanted to argue, but the moment was gone. Hermione's eyes welled with tears again at her mother's words—it seemed they weren't going to be upset with her after all. Her relief was palpable.

"I'm so glad you're alright," Hermione whispered hoarsely. "I was afraid—"

"None of that, lambkin," her dad cut in, his voice still heavy with emotion. "No more being afraid, alright? We've got a lot of catching up to do. Starting with this young man's intentions towards you." He indicated Ron with a jerk of his thumb. Hermione's heart stopped and she prayed that Ron wouldn't feel compelled to answer her father's intrusive inquiry.

"Dad! That's hardly any of your—"

"I'm joking, sweetie," her father laughed. "Should've seen both your faces though!" He was still chuckling as he went upstairs to shower and change.

"You'll stay for dinner, of course," Hermione's mum stated. "Come on, you can both help me in the kitchen—and maybe have a bit of a snack while we wait for dinner. Honestly, your _collarbone_, Hermione, you're so thin I can see the entire thing..."

* * *

Dinner stretched well into the night, the mood at the table alternating from joyous to troubled and back again. Hermione could tell that her parents were making an effort not to interrogate her as much as they wished to, and for that she was grateful. Still, they had loads of questions, and whenever Ron wasn't regaling everyone with a funny story the tone of conversation would shift back into somber. For the time being Hermione thought it best to answer them as truthfully and as briefly as possible. They had only just found each other again; the more distressing conversations could wait.

Speaking of which, she realized she would have to ask her parents whether they would come home with her or not. Her body tensed and the smile slipped from her face. Perhaps she would save that conversation for tomorrow. It was getting late, after all. Standing and levitating the dirty dishes into the kitchen, Hermione's concentration slipped when her mum gasped, and the plates went crashing to the floor as she spun to aim her wand at the door.

"What's going on? Hermione, are you alright?" Her father's voice, laden with concern, snapped her attention back to the table. Her mum was still seated, looking surprised; Robert was standing halfway out of his chair, clearly unsure what had caused the disruption. Looking wildly around, still half-convinced a Death Eater had Apparated into her parents' dining room, Hermione noted that Ron had leapt from his seat and was covering her back, his wand aimed at the kitchen door. He grimaced at her as he slowly sank back into his seat.

"Hermione?" Her mum's whisper sounded scared, and Hermione felt tears well in her eyes for the umpteenth time tonight.

"I'm sorry. I—when you gasped, it startled me, and I-I just reacted," she explained, passing a shaking hand over her face. Her instincts, so fine-tuned to their year of hiding and fighting, were jarringly out of place now, in the safety of a world without Voldemort. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Her parents, if possible, looked even more worried than they had before. Standing, her mum approached her, gently placing both hands on Hermione's face. "We know there are things you won't—can't—tell us, Hermione, and we understand, we really do. We love you, and we realize you've been through a lot. It's...it's going to take us some time to adjust to this new you, that's all." Seeing Hermione's uncertainty, her mum explained, "When you flew those plates—oh, it sounds silly, but sometimes I forget about the magic. I'm sorry I startled you."

Tears streamed down Hermione's face, and her mum wiped them away gently with her thumbs. "Don't cry, sweetheart. We love you and we're here for you, in whatever capacity you need us." She wrapped Hermione in a hug, and Hermione finally let go of all her worry over her parents and her fear for their lives. She sobbed all of her heartbreak and sorrow into her mother's comforting embrace, relieved to know things between them would be okay at last.

When she finally composed herself, Hermione was surprised to notice that Elizabeth had settled them on the sofa at some point, and Ron and her father were nowhere to be seen.

"Your father took Ronald out to see the gardens," her mum explained. "Too much waterworks for the boys, I'm afraid." Her gentle smile took any sting out of her words.

Hermione wiped at her eyes and sat up, a watery chuckle escaping her lips. "Yes, Ron has never exactly been demonstrative," she said. The women exchanged a look of understanding and Hermione sighed, slumping against her mother again. "Mum," she whispered, not daring to look at her mother's face. "How did you... How did you know that Dad was the one?"

She felt rather than saw her mother shift to try and catch a look at her face, but she kept herself firmly buried against her mum's shoulder. After a long moment, during which Hermione began to wonder if her mother had even heard her, her mum responded. "He was simply the part of my life that I most looked forward to every single day. When I was with him, nothing else mattered; when we were apart, he was all I could think about."

There was another long silence while Hermione processed this information. Her parents had always been the academic sort—loving, certainly, but more intellectual than emotional. So it was extremely surprising to hear her otherwise rational mother describing her relationship with Hermione's dad in such...poetic terms. Hermione frowned slightly. Was Ron her everything the way her father seemed to be for her mother? More importantly, did she even want him to be?

"Hermione..." her mum faltered, and Hermione lifted her head to look, really _look_, at her mother. It was shocking to discover that one's parents were _people_. "Dearest, despite what I've just said, I think I should clarify that—_wanting_ someone in your life because you're _afraid_ to be without them is vastly different than needing someone in your life because you would never want to live without them." Her mum paused and Hermione looked away. "I hope the distinction is clear. I don't know what your feelings for Ronald are, sweetie, but I'd hate to see you—either of you—making a lifelong decision in the immediate aftermath of what you've lived through. Just think on it, okay?"

Hermione nodded as the men re-entered the room, laughing about something. After a glance at Hermione, Ron claimed that he was about to fall dead asleep where he stood, so the group made their goodbyes and arranged for Hermione and Ron to return the next day. As she and Ron walked the last few blocks to their hotel, Hermione studied the face she knew almost as well as her own. He was Ron, her childhood friend, her war companion, her grown-up sweetheart. And yet, right now, she felt like she had never seen him before.

Was her mum right? Were they both clinging onto one another because to let go would mean defeat, loneliness? Were they truly meant to be, or were they a product of the most unusual of circumstances? And if Ron truly loved Hermione with all his soul, did she have it in her to deny him, even if she didn't feel the same? Of course there were Ron's feelings to deal with, too—what if _he _was only staying with _her _because she had been so needy lately? He was valiant enough to sacrifice his happiness for her, she knew.

Everything was confusing now that the world should have righted itself. As Hermione cast her protection spells around their room before bed, she kept an eye on Ron, noticing little things here and there—the way his smile was more lopsided on the left, the cluster of freckles just under his eye—that she had come to take for granted. It was unsettling, really, that for once she was completely at a loss for what to do.

That night, The Dream was startlingly comforting in its familiarity. In this, at least, she knew what to expect.

* * *

The next few days felt like they'd come straight out of a dream—a pleasant one, though, not _The Dream_. She and Ron spent most of their waking hours talking and laughing with her parents and exploring the city. Robert and Elizabeth had closed their dental office for a few days in order to spend all their time with their daughter, and the foursome fell into an easy rhythm with one another. Soon, though, Hermione began to grow anxious to return to England. The discussion she'd been putting off was looming ever more prominently in her mind, so a week after they'd arrived, Hermione broached the subject with her parents while Ron was taking a nap out in the hammock.

"Mum? Dad? Could I talk to you for a minute?" They moved into the living room and seated themselves while Hermione paced in front of the fireplace. She nervously cleared her throat.

"As much as I want to stay, Ron and I really need to get back. School starts soon and I'll need to prepare my lessons..." Hermione trailed off, annoyed at her own rambling. "What I'm trying to say is that we'll be returning to England tomorrow, and I-I wondered whether you'd be coming with us."

She stopped her pacing to look at her parents, surprised to see both of them smiling at her. "We wondered when you'd get around to asking us that," her dad said. Hermione was sure her mouth was hanging open, but she was too shocked to do anything about it. "When we want to see you, you're just an Appertition away! Besides, your mother and I have talked about it, and as much as we'd love to be closer to you—our lives are here, now."

"Apparation," Hermione murmured distractedly, not bothering to correct her dad's idea that one could simply Apparate across hemispheres. This was unexpected—she'd gone over all the potential scenarios in her head, and none of them had turned out quite like this. Seeing her parents' expressions of loving indulgence, Hermione wondered why she had been so nervous. She supposed she was afraid they might still decide to blame her for her actions. "Um, right. Well, it's up to you, of course, but I just thought—"

"Your father and I agreed that we would spend a few weeks a year in England," her mum added. "And of course you're welcome here any time, dearheart."

Hermione swallowed thickly, looking closely at her parents. They didn't _seem_ to be upset about any of this, but she couldn't be sure. "Are you certain that's what you want? I just want you to be happy," she finished.

"You did too good of a job with our relocation, lambkin," her dad chuckled. "We love it here, don't we, Lizzie? Besides, with you all grown and headed off to be a professor, well...you don't really need us quite so close any more."

Uncertain whether she should be happy for her parents or a bit sad for herself, Hermione merely nodded. Her dad stood and came to wrap her in his arms. "Not that we don't want to be close to you, Hermione," he said. "But you've got your own life now—you have since you turned eleven, quite honestly—and you know where to find us when you need us."

Hermione's mum stood and joined them, too, saying, "And we'll keep the house in England—that is, if we didn't sell it?" Hermione shook her head and her mum smiled. "Well, then, it's all yours. We were thinking that we'd come visit for a few weeks in the autumn—spring, for you; if that's alright?"

"_Any_ time," Hermione stressed to her parents, feeling hesitantly content.

"You'll always be welcome at my parents' place too, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Ron interjected from the doorway. "Although Dad'll probably want to ask you all about power tools, whatever those are."

Laughing, Hermione broke away from her parents. "Well, what are we going to do for our last night here?" she asked brightly. Immediately, they began to make plans, and the rest of the afternoon and evening were spent enjoying each other's company to the utmost.

* * *

"Want to go down to the beach for a walk before bed?" Ron asked Hermione as they turned off her parents' street.

"Sure, I'm barely going to sleep tonight, anyway," Hermione replied. They walked in companionable silence, and Hermione let Ron lead her towards the water. He'd confessed to her earlier in the week that ever since his days at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur, the sounds of the waves had soothed him above all else. He also admitted to wanting a house of his own on the coast somewhere, although he'd have to save up for a few years first.

Ron took her hand and Hermione smiled softly at him. They'd pack up in the morning and have breakfast with her parents before beginning their long journey home. She was sad to leave them again so soon, but at least she was leaving on good terms, and she would see them again in the spring. In the meantime, she would file the paperwork with the Floo Network to see about getting their fireplace hooked up, and then she could speak with them that way. Hermione made a mental note to ask Percy who she should talk to at the Ministry—things were mad over there just now with all the former Death Eaters and their supporters being ousted from their positions.

Hermione was so caught up in her train of thought that she didn't even realize they'd come to a stop on the sand until Ron moved to stand in front of her. Gripping her shoulders in his hands, he looked at her intensely, and Hermione's stomach began to flutter nervously at the resolve in his blue eyes.

"Hermione. I know this isn't the best time, and I know we said 'eventually,' but I just couldn't leave here without doing this properly." He dropped to his knees and pulled the little maroon box from his pocket. Hermione's heart stopped—or maybe time stopped, she wasn't sure—but when things restarted, her heart was beating painfully fast against her ribs.

"Ron, wait!" She fell to her knees in the sand, awkwardly losing her balance and grabbing onto his arm for support. "Is this really what you want? Are you ready for this step?" In her panic, she was tossing out any question she could think of to delay him from asking her to marry him. Seeing the confusion on his features begin to fade into stubbornness, she made another desperate plea. "Just—kiss me first!"

Launching herself at Ron, she felt a huge sense of relief when he dropped the box and wrapped his arms around her. As she sank into his comforting embrace, her mind was still reeling, a thousand things running through her head at once. _Do you love him enough? Are you just afraid to be without him? _Her mother's words came back to her, and Hermione miserably wished her mum was here now to tell her what to do. Thinking about how her mother had admitted to wanting nothing other than to be in her father's presence, Hermione wrested her thoughts away from the box lying in the sand and instead focused on Ron.

His kiss was intimately familiar by now, and Hermione traced the pattern of freckles on his face in her mind's eye. On the other Weasley children, the freckles seemed like tokens automatically bestowed due to genetics; but on Ron, they were natural, a complement to his coloring and overall look. Of course, Ginny's freckles were considered adorable because she was a girl, but on the other Weasley boys they just seemed gratuitous, somehow. Hermione's thoughts turned to the freckles now smattering her own face, earned day by day in the harsh weather of Great Britain while they camped out. Was there a potion to reduce freckles? Perhaps she could invent one now that she was going to have access to the Hogwarts laboratory. Gradually, she realized that while she was kissing Ron, she wasn't _paying attention _to kissing Ron. Mentally shaking herself, Hermione directed all her attention to her redheaded boyfriend.

Maybe it was because she hadn't been paying attention before.  
Maybe it was because the feelings hadn't been there before.  
Or maybe it was just because she hadn't _wanted _to notice before...but she was surprisingly dispassionate about Ron's affections.

And, unless she didn't know him nearly as well as she thought, he was dispassionate about hers, too.

Gasping, Hermione pulled back and looked at Ron in surprise. "You're already bored with me!" she exclaimed, her mouth gaping open.

"What? No, Hermione, never—"

"It's okay! Ron, it's alright! I'm bored with you too!" Hermione laughed, feeling freer than she imagined she would at the realization.

Ron, however, was not amused. "Well, I'm sorry I'm so _boring_," he snapped at her, the tips of his ears beginning to turn red. " 'Spose now that you're some great _war heroine _you want a bloke who's more _exciting_—"

"Ron, no!" Hermione's smile fell. "That didn't come out right. I only meant that—well, just now, while we were kissing, I was paying attention, _really _focusing, and I realized—I don't normally pay much mind to what we're doing. And—and I think you'd notice the same thing, i-if you cared to look, too." She bit her lip nervously, hoping she hadn't misread him. But she was almost certain that she'd sensed the same polite disinterest in him that she'd felt just now, too.

Ron frowned and looked away from her. Hermione's mind whirred with the implications—she loved him, she really did, but she wasn't _in love _with him, and that's what her mum had been getting at, wasn't it? Hermione knew she always wanted Ron in her life, but she was becoming less and less certain she wanted him there as her husband.

Finally, Ron faced her again, looking at her seriously. "I love you." It sounded more like a question than a statement, so Hermione nodded before responding.

"I love you, too, Ron," she whispered. "I always will. It's—I just don't know if I love you the way you deserve to be loved, or if I've been so scared to let you go because of everything that's happened." She paused to take a breath and noted that he had nodded slowly. Then she remembered something Harry had said to Ginny, about that night in the forest with the locket. "There's no one else!" she blurted out. "And I—I do have feelings for you, not very sisterly feelings, but I..."

Hermione didn't know how to say what she was feeling. For the life of her, she didn't even know precisely _what _she was feeling. "Please, say something," she begged him.

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times before raking a hand through his hair and saying, "Bloody hell, Hermione, you really know how to make a proposal special." He slanted a sheepish smile at her, and she burst out laughing. Ron joined her and soon, they had both collapsed on the sand, laughing until there were tears streaming down their cheeks. Slowly their chuckles died off and a companionable silence filled the air between them. It felt clean, and fresh, like newly wet sand when the waves receded.

Ron twined his hands with hers and put his other hand behind his head. "I noticed it a few weeks ago, the fact that I wasn't spending every second obsessing over you anymore, but I just shoved it away and kept kissing you because, well, I just don't know what else to do. You're...you're special to me, Hermione. I never wanted to screw this up, for either of us. And I _would _marry you, if that's what you wanted, because if we could recapture those feelings from when we first got together—it'd be damn near perfect."

Hermione rolled to face him and propped her head up on her hand. "You didn't ruin anything! These past weeks have been wonderful—I mean it!" she insisted when he started to shake his head. "You're an amazing man, Ronald Weasley, and I'm so lucky to have you as my best friend. And I wouldn't go back and change being your girlfriend these past months even if I could." She paused as she considered how to proceed. "But lately I've wondered if it's really meant to be or if we've just been clinging to each other because we survived and didn't know what else to do."

"I know what you mean," Ron sighed. "Although I'm still a bit offended that you're 'bored with me'. That's just rude." He grinned and Hermione shoved him playfully before flopping back down into the sand.

"So where do we go from here?" she asked.

"Back through Indonesia and Pakistan like before, I expect," came the sarcastic reply. Hermione snorted and Ron continued, "Seriously, though, I don't know. I don't suppose this means we're still together, but..." He lapsed into silence and Hermione hesitated, not wanting to put any more words into his mouth.

After a while it became obvious that Ron was having just as much trouble identifying what they were going to do as she was, so Hermione picked up where he'd left off. "We're not still together, but I don't want to be apart, either," she said softly. It was simple, and complicated, and the truth—they'd been through so much together with Harry that things just wouldn't be right if they weren't a cohesive unit. "Friends forever?" she asked, feeling a bit silly and childish.

"Yeah." A grin touched Ron's face. "Good luck explaining that to Mum, though; she's going to have a fit when she hears that I tried to pop the question like a good little boy and you said 'I'm bored!'"

Groaning, Hermione sat up. "Maybe we could just keep it to ourselves for a bit longer? No one has to know that we've broken up, not right away. We can wait until school's started and you're in the Auror program and everything's calmed down. And then no one will be quite as surprised that we've just—drifted apart."

Ron sat up, too, and picked up the jewelry box, dusting the sand off before replacing it in his pocket. "Brilliant. Can't have it get out that I was rejected—then the ladies will only flock to me out of pity rather than admiration." He dodged the lighthearted punch Hermione sent his way and rolled to his feet, holding a hand out for her. Taking it, Hermione allowed him to pull her up, and she didn't move away from him as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You'll always have part of my heart, Hermione," he murmured into her hair, and Hermione felt her eyes begin to water. "If you ever need anything..."

"I know, Ron," she whispered against his chest, squeezing her eyes shut tight. "I know. It's the same for me."

They remained standing on the beach long after the sunset, neither one willing to return to the hotel and cement the end of their brief but wonderful relationship. Hermione was so conflicted she felt paralyzed—_not _getting married was the right thing, for _both _of them, but it was so hard to accept. It would be the perfect fairy-tale ending to their horrible year, but it felt wrong, somehow. Casting discreet glances at Ron, she could only hope he was telling the truth and that he felt the same way.

* * *

**A/N: To my sweet WeasleySeeker, I'm sorry to bring an end to your OTP. Severus has a way of doing that. :) To everyone else, the plot is really going to pick up now that Hermione's headed back to Hogwarts! **

**Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, and katie9635 for beta reading this chapter. ****As always, I am not JK Rowling and make no claims to own Harry Potter.**


	10. More Dreams

**Chapter 10: More Dreams**

Hermione left her parents' house amid many tears and promises to write often. She'd bought them their own masked owl from a small Wizarding row of shops in a nearby town, and her parents had already bonded with the handsome creature. She'd also insisted on purchasing a magical camera—the photo of her parents standing in their orchard, smiling and waving, was going to be placed prominently in her new quarters at Hogwarts.

The return trip was even more grueling than the way there, because now Hermione did not have the same sense of purpose coursing through her. She and Ron wasted as little time as possible at each stop, pausing only to catch their bearings and discard the used Portkeys. Despite traveling for several hours, they arrived back in Devon only an hour or two after departing Australia, at least according to Hermione's watch. The clock in the Burrow simply showed their spoons shifting from _Traveling _to _Home_.

Mrs. Weasley hugged them both, trying surreptitiously to look at Hermione's left hand. Hermione excused herself to go freshen up before dinner and she heard Molly round on Ron the minute she started up the stairs.

"Well, did you ask her?"

"No, Mum, I told you, we were there to find her parents..."

Hermione shut herself into her and Ginny's room, leaning against the door and sighing heavily. It wouldn't be pleasant when they broke the news to everyone, but she hoped that she'd still be welcome here. The Weasleys had always accepted her before and she didn't want that to change, but she wouldn't make things harder than they had to be on Ron. If Mrs. Weasley didn't want her around anymore, she would have to accept it. Straightening, she headed to the bathroom to splash some water on her face before joining the family for dinner.

* * *

_Find me._

The black eyes snapped open, blazing in anger.

_Find me, you foolish girl! _

The deathly hand reached for her, but Hermione swatted it away. "I'm trying!" she exclaimed, frowning in frustration at the corpse in front of her.

_Think, girl! The answer is closer than you realize! _

"Oh, that's really helpful," she murmured to herself. "I don't suppose you have anything more detailed to tell me?" The bloodless lips compressed in a frown but otherwise remained silent. Hermione snorted and glanced around the depressing scene. She didn't remember the walls of the Shrieking Shack being quite so blood-splattered.

_Find me! _

Ignoring her irritating nighttime visitor, Hermione thought back to a few weeks ago when The Dream had started. Had the scene of Professor Snape's death even been as horrific then as it appeared now? Hermione frowned. She didn't think it had been.

_Find—_

"Are you deliberately making this place more and more disgusting?" she accused the vision before her. He glowered at her but did not answer. Hermione shook herself—now she was attempting to have conversations with dead men in her dreams. Perhaps it was time to admit that the war had wreaked more havoc on her mental health than she'd realized. Glancing around as she started to wake up, Hermione's eye caught a small, glinting something against a far wall.

_Think! Find me. _

She was already lunging for it, stretching her fingers out for it as The Dream dissolved into nothingness, one last _Find me! _echoing in her ears.

* * *

"The button!" Hermione bolted out of bed, tripping and falling to the floor as she raced to her trunk. "How could I be so _stupid_?"

"Hermione, what's—" Ginny's sleepy voice was accompanied by her incongruously swift motion to snatch up her wand and check for intruders. Hermione wondered whether they would ever really lose that knee-jerk reaction or not.

"The button, Ginny, why didn't I think of it before? His Horcrux has been right here all this time!" Hermione hastily threw things out of her trunk, digging down to one of the secret compartments on the bottom. Murmuring the spell to reveal the tiny niche, Hermione pulled out the little pouch within and emptied it onto her palm. She stood and spun to face Ginny, holding her hand out to show the other girl.

One shiny, black button lay nestled there, staring impassively up at them.

Hermione could hardly contain her elation. Here she had searched all of his properties, all his possessions, woefully wondering how she would ever find it—and the Horcrux had been securely tucked into her trunk the whole time. A huge grin spread across her face and she gazed at the button with exhilarated reverence.

Ginny was also looking at the button in Hermione's hand, but her expression was much more dubious. In fact, Hermione rather thought Ginny looked like she was trying to suppress a snort.

"Well?" Hermione prodded her. Ginny raised her eyes briefly to Hermione's before returning them to the little button, swallowing loudly a few times before opening her mouth to speak.

"It's just... It's not very _prestigious_, is it?" Ginny looked questioningly at Hermione, clearly afraid she'd offended her.

Hermione felt her shoulders slump a bit. "No, I suppose not," she grudgingly admitted. But then her spirits lightened when she remembered something Harry had told her. "But they don't _have _to be, you know. It was only that Voldemort wanted to make a statement with his. He thought they were fitting of his greatness, or something. You could make a Horcrux out of anything."

Ginny nodded slowly and took another look at the button before going to sit on her bed. "Well then. How do we find out if it is his Horcrux? Do you—talk to them, or something?" At her shudder, Hermione suddenly remembered Ginny's experience with the diary of Tom Riddle, and sat down next to Ginny so she could put a hand on her arm. No wonder Ginny had always looked so haunted when the subject of Horcruxes came up.

"They don't all talk," she assured her friend, curling her fingers tightly around the button and trying not to think about the way the bit of Voldemort in Hufflepuff's cup had infiltrated her mind. The visions had been worse than any Boggart, that was for sure. She hadn't even told Ron or Harry about the things Voldemort's soul had forced her to see—it was too personal. Hermione was suddenly, fiercely glad that she'd destroyed the wretched Horcrux with her own bare hands.

The two girls continued to sit quietly for a moment, Hermione basking in the glory of discovery and Ginny gazing at the button with barely concealed disgust.

"What are you going to do?" Ginny asked finally.

"I'm not sure, to be honest," Hermione answered. That _was _a good question. She couldn't just hold the button out to Harry or Mr. Weasley and ask them if they thought it was a Horcrux—that would result in far too many questions being asked of her.

"Do any of your books—"

"No," Hermione said glumly. "I checked back when I first suspected he'd done it. None of them tell you how to identify a Horcrux."

They lapsed back into silence. It was still early in the morning, so there were no sounds coming from the rest of the house. Hermione wondered whether she should try to keep the Horcrux with her throughout the day or keep it locked up in her trunk.

"I have an idea," Ginny announced quietly. "What if you tried to destroy it—"

"Ginny, no! It would kill him!" Hermione gasped, taken aback at the other girl's uncaring attitude.

"Hear me out! I don't mean you should _actually _destroy it; I mean _try _to destroy it. Make it think you're going to stab it with a fang and then—and then it'll fight back, won't it? Then—then we'll know." Ginny's eyes were wide with fright, but Hermione caught the glint of steel beneath.

"That's not a bad idea," Hermione admitted. "I don't have any fangs, though." A small furrow appeared between her brows as she realized that this was a massive oversight. She'd have to search the upper corridors at Hogwarts to see if the fangs she'd dropped to kiss Ron were still lying about. They were highly dangerous, after all, and she didn't want someone who didn't know what they were to happen upon them. Actually, it was lucky she and Ron hadn't accidentally stepped on one while they were kissing. At that moment, she hadn't been thinking of anything else but the very real possibility that she would lose Ron forever—

"Something else, then," Ginny urged, interrupting Hermione's reminiscence. "Harry told me Crabbe set some kind of fire in the Room of Requirement."

"Fiendfyre," Hermione murmured, thinking. "It's unpredictable, though, and horribly dangerous. It killed Crabbe." She eyed the little button speculatively. "Then again...maybe all I have to do is really _think _about using it, and his soul will resist."

She stood and placed the button on the middle of her bed, nervously smoothing her nightdress over her hips. Picking up her wand, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the incantation for the evil flames. She envisioned engulfing the button in the treacherous fire, watching as it burned and the bit of soul within cried out in agony.

Nothing happened.

Cracking one eye open, she noted that the button remained as still and passive as before. Closing her eye again, she held her wand out as though she was going to cast the spell, this time trying to project her thoughts of killing the Horcrux out into the room so that Professor Snape's soul would make itself known.

Still nothing.

"Here, I'll think it too. I reckon I've got a lot more pent-up hatred towards Snape than you." Ginny joined her in front of the bed, pointing her wand resolutely at the button. "And I wouldn't hesitate to do it," she announced loudly to the little black circle.

For several moments, both girls stood there, trying to convince the button that they harbored ill will towards its contents. Finally, Hermione sighed and dropped her wand.

"You know...I don't think this is working." Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Ginny tilted her head and frowned at the button. "You said they can't be damaged by normal spells, right?" Hermione nodded distractedly, her brain already leaping ahead to other ways she might reveal the Horcrux.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Ginny shouted, "_Incendio!_"

Hermione yelped and scrambled away from the small burst of flame that erupted on the bed. "What are you doing?" she cried out. Hastily, she grabbed a blanket and attempted to beat out the flames. "Help me!" she called. When Ginny rushed forward with an _Aguamenti _charm, something clicked in Hermione's mind.

"It burned!" she exclaimed, looking at Ginny for confirmation.

"It burned," Ginny agreed, peeling back the blanket so they could examine the charred, slightly melted mess.

"It's not a Horcrux?" Hermione asked, feeling stupid.

"It's not a Horcrux," Ginny confirmed.

Feeling both relieved and deflated, Hermione stared at the ruined bedspread. "I was so sure—"

"You'll figure it out, Hermione." Ginny's confidence in her did little to bolster her mood. The button, it had been in her Dream last night! Surely that meant something. Why else would one little button have escaped the rest of the mayhem in the Shrieking Shack? Why had she been drawn to it as she exited the trapdoor that fateful night? Putting her head in her hands, Hermione felt a familiar anger sweep through her. First Dumbledore, now Professor Snape. She was so tired of being left ill-fitting puzzle pieces by brilliant wizards.

* * *

That evening found Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasley offspring (minus Percy, who was busy working overtime) traipsing down the lane into Ottery St. Catchpole. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had shooed them out for the night, ordering them to go into town and have a good time "just being young people." George had mentioned some sort of local singing bar that he and Fred used to visit, so they'd headed off after dinner.

The boys were due to start Auror training the next day, so it was their last night of freedom before the grueling process turned them into full-fledged Dark magic fighters. Personally, Hermione didn't think it was going to be anything like their unstructured fight-or-flight experiences in the past, but she didn't want to say anything of that nature to the boys. They were looking forward to it, and for once she would bite her own tongue off before she said anything to spoil their excitement.

As the Burrow disappeared from view, they saw a girl with flowing blonde hair bent over peering into a tree trunk. She straightened when they approached and tucked a small dragonhide bag into her pocket.

"Good evening. Lovely night for fairy-gathering, isn't it?" Luna fell into step beside Ginny, and Hermione couldn't suppress a smile.

"Is your house fixed, then, Luna?" Hermione asked tentatively. Since she had been primarily responsible for blowing it up, she felt she ought to at least ask how repairs were coming along.

"Oh, no," Luna said airily. "Daddy's been working on restoring his printing press, so most of the walls are still gone. It's been wonderful for stargazing at night."

"Er, that's great!" Hermione said, unsure whether she should offer to help repair the house or not. Luna merely nodded, so Hermione looked to Harry and Ron for support. Both boys just shrugged, clearly as confused as Hermione was.

"Dad said we ought to be able to come over for a few hours this weekend and help out," Charlie spoke up. "Between our dads, me, Bill, and George, we should have it all back together in no time."

"How nice," Luna answered, sounding supremely unconcerned about the state of her house.

Conversation began to splinter among different pairs then, and Hermione strolled companionably next to Ron and Harry as they neared the little village. George led them to The Weasel & The Moon, an aged little building in the heart of town. Hermione laughed at the name—apparently the Weasley and Lovegood families had lived in this area for centuries, if their names had become part of the Muggle culture.

Stepping inside, Hermione was pleasantly surprised. The interior of the building was much cleaner than she had been expecting, and a signboard above the bar listed a handful of meals available from the small kitchen. At the back of the room, a small stage boasted a single microphone and a machine that Hermione recognized from another child's birthday party once when she was younger.

"You didn't tell me this was a karaoke bar!" she said to George. One side of his mouth tipped up a bit.

"Didn't know it had a name," he answered. "Fred and I..." He trailed off and looked down at the floor for a moment. Hermione put a hand on his arm and he returned his gaze to hers. "Fred and I used to come here to laugh at the singers. Then one night we tried it, and we were hooked. Came here every night the summer after fifth year."

"I expect to hear you sing for us at least once, then," Hermione teased him. George smiled sadly at her and moved to sit in one of the far booths. She realized then that they must have done duets when they came. She grimaced and resisted the urge to smack herself on the head. _Way to be insensitive, Hermione_.

"I'm going to get drinks, want anything?" Ron asked from behind her.

"Just a soda for now. Thanks." Hermione joined George, Bill, and Charlie at the booth, scooting over to make room for Ginny and Luna. They listened to the singers while they idly chatted about nothing in particular. A few times Hermione noticed George almost smiling, and she breathed a sigh of relief to see him starting to come back to himself. The fact that he was here, where he had so many happy memories of his twin, spoke volumes for how far he'd come since the final battle.

Harry and Ron joined the group, mugs of various beverages clutched in both hands. They toasted the boys for their acceptance to the Auror program. Then they toasted Hermione and Luna for their teaching positions. Then they toasted Ginny, who was going to be Head Girl. Before Hermione knew it, they were toasting everyone in the bar, for progressively sillier things like "successfully wearing mismatched socks" or "looking like McGonagall's grandmother."

Laughing until she was gasping for air, Hermione was grateful when the toasts died down and Charlie suggested someone should go sing. Hermione shook her head at Ron's pleading look—she was not about to embarrass herself in front of everyone. Ginny dragged Luna up to the stage and the two girls examined the song list. When it was their turn, a Spice Girls tune filled the air, and Hermione clapped wildly as Ginny sang along and Luna...did whatever Luna was doing. Hermione supposed Luna probably thought she was harmonizing, but honestly, she was just singing notes both off-key and off-tempo. Still, it was wonderful to see her friends happy after everything that had happened, and Hermione relaxed against Ron's side as she listened. He looked down at her and smiled before throwing his arm around her shoulders.

Sighing contentedly, Hermione selfishly wished that her life could be no more complicated than it was at this very moment: laughing with her friends and curled into the comfort of Ron's arm. But life _was _complicated, and she couldn't just hide away forever, much as she wanted to sometimes. In a few weeks, she'd be facing down hundreds of students as she attempted to teach them Potions. She'd be charged with caring for Slytherin House, a task that no doubt would have daunted even the most determined of Gryffindors.

Most dauntingly of all, she'd be searching for the Horcrux of one Severus Snape, and then trying to reunite his soul with his body.

Trying not to groan when she thought of all the work _that _would entail, Hermione sat up, pulling away from Ron. Since they hadn't told the others of their break-up yet, it was necessary to act the same as they had been, but somehow it didn't seem fair to Ron to keep touching him all the time. She couldn't use him as a safety net, no matter how much she wished to continue to draw comfort from him.

Ginny and Luna finished their song to much applause, and a band took to the stage and began to play. Ginny drew Harry out of his seat and onto a small dance floor with her. Charlie grabbed Luna and spun her around, her hair flying away from her head as she laughed and danced merrily. The band was very energetic, and Hermione couldn't help tapping her foot as she enjoyed the music.

She smiled at Ron when he stood, but her smile froze when he held out a hand for her. Hermione looked at him curiously.

"Come on. Dance with me." His grin was infectious and Hermione found herself putting her hand in his to follow him to the cramped dance floor. Ron pulled her close and Hermione put her worries aside as they danced to the frantic pace of the music. For the next half hour, their group dominated the dance floor, happily forgetting the horrors in their recent past, at least for a little while.

* * *

_Find me._

The tails of his robes snaked around her ankles, tightening as they pulled her inexorably closer to the rotting body.

_Find me! _

The insidious black cloth wrapped tighter and tighter as it crept up her legs.

_Time is running out. Find me! _

"WHY DON'T YOU HELP ME THEN?" she cried, scared and frustrated and so, so sick of seeing him this way every night.

_Think._

His command woke her, and Hermione groaned softly as she flopped onto her back in the bed. This was really getting out of hand. While she'd been in Australia, The Dream seemed less—intense, somehow, as though the physical distance had something to do with the strength of her vision. Now that she was back, however, the disgruntled form of Professor Snape was sharper than ever, and Hermione was at a loss.

"Him again?" Ginny whispered, startling Hermione.

"Did I wake you? I'm so sorry, Ginny! I'll go sleep downstairs..."

"Don't be ridiculous. I was just coming back from meeting Harry, anyway." Hermione heard the sheets rustle from Ginny's direction, and then a soft weight pressed down on the end of her bed. "What do you think it could be? We've got to find out, or else you'll never be free of him."

Hermione huffed out a breath. "I know. I've racked my brain, though, and I just can't think of anything that he would have felt was safe enough to entrust with a piece of his soul!"

"Hm. Let's focus on what we do know. It had to be small enough that it was on his person but not visible the night he killed Dumbledore, right? And it had to be something he could have hidden away right after, something that wouldn't look suspicious." Hermione appreciated Ginny's approach but so far the other girl hadn't touched on anything Hermione hadn't already thought about a million times. Nevertheless, she played along.

"It was probably something he valued, or something he knew someone _else _would value. If it was just an old shoe, it might have gotten tossed out." Hermione's brain whirred in the darkness as she allowed her thoughts to go where they may.

"So, it was small, valuable, inconspicuous. What would Snape have valued, anyway? His Death Eater mask?"

"No, he wouldn't have taken pride in that," Hermione mused. She couldn't be positive, but she was convinced that he would not have relished his participation in Voldemort's ranks after Lily's death.

"Wait a minute. Didn't you say Dumbledore heard his ghost was in the Forbidden Forest? Why don't we just go ask?" Ginny asked excitedly.

"I thought about it, but...I don't know, Ginny. It seems like I ought to at least have an idea of his Horcrux before I go hunt his ghost down. I don't think he'd be too pleased with me if I showed up and said, 'Hello, Professor; I suspect you made a Horcrux but I've no idea what it is or where it might be. Oh, and I'm sorry I left you to die. Well, good to see you!'"

Ginny snorted softly and muttered something that sounded like "serves him right." Hermione couldn't explain it, but she felt like a test had been set before her, and if she went to Professor Snape without this critical piece of information, then she would fail. She also strongly suspected that the spirit of Severus Snape would not reveal himself unless he sensed the presence of his precious Horcrux. She knew he would never stand about and answer her questions unless she'd proven herself worthy by finding the Dark object first.

"He was smart, Ginny; maybe he used a prized book, or perhaps a gift from a treasured student, or—or—"

Ginny said something else, but all Hermione heard was a dull buzzing sound. At once her stomach dropped to her feet and her heart began to pound loudly in her ears. She sat up slowly, sluggishly, her entire body refusing to cooperate as her mind alighted on a new idea.

"My assignment," she whispered, the words taking a long time to form on her lips.

"What? Hermione, I didn't hear what you said." Ginny shook her shoulder, then again, harder. Hermione turned to look at her friend and felt like a _Muffliato _had been cast between them, so loud was the rushing in her ears.

"My assignment," she said again, louder this time. "I was thinking of a gift he might have received from a favorite student, and then of course I thought about how much he disliked me as a student, and it just hit me—why did he give me an Outstanding on _one _paper? Only one. My whole time at Hogwarts, I only ever got Acceptables, and that's when he was feeling generous and not handing out Poors." She stopped to take a few deep breaths, certainty settling over her like a cloak. "He knew I'd keep it, the bloody git; it had nothing to do with my work at all! He—he gave me a piece of his _soul_ on my ruddy _homework _assignment!"

Hermione leapt to her feet and started to pace. "And he was right, too, the arrogant man—I did keep that assignment, even though it hardly mattered anymore! Harry and Ron tried to get me to burn it, but _no_, I had to _keep _it, I was so _proud _of it. I locked it away in my parents' house; I was afraid I'd _lose _it and then who would believe me that Professor Snape gave me an Outstanding? Ooh!"

She smacked a fist against her open palm in frustration and embarrassment. He'd been able to read her like a book. He'd manipulated her so easily and she hadn't even realized it until now. When she found his ghost—and she was going to—she had some stern words for him, yes indeed. She locked eyes with Ginny and the girls shared a look of feminine indignance. They spent the next hour deciding what Hermione's plan of action should be, finally falling asleep where they sat side by side on Hermione's bed.

* * *

**A/N: The music I listened to exclusively while working up this chapter was Grouplove's Tongue Tied - it seems really fitting for Ron and Hermione, somehow. I have finally taken my licensing exam and begun to return to the land of the living. I also managed to massively fail at NaNoWriMo, so now I'm going to focus on fanfic once again, and Tenacity is at the top of the list! **

**Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, and katie9635 for beta reading this chapter. ****As always, I am not JK Rowling and make no claims to own Harry Potter. ...Much as it pains me. **


	11. New Beginnings

**Chapter 11: New Beginnings**

Early the next morning, the younger members of the Weasley clan plus Charlie set out with Molly and Arthur to accompany Harry and Ron to their first day of Auror training. Hermione made Ginny promise she wouldn't mention their discovery to anyone else, but she needn't have bothered: Ginny was so wrapped up in sending Harry off properly that Hermione doubted the redheaded girl even remembered the events of last night.

They Apparated into a nondescript old warehouse on the outskirts of London. Hermione looked around in wonder—it seemed to be a sort of train station, but for Floos. The walls were lined with fireplaces, each labeled with a different destination. It seemed that local destinations like the Ministry of Magic, St. Mungo's, and Diagon Alley were on the left, while long-distance Floos were set up on the right. Charlie kissed his mother goodbye before shaking hands with everyone else, then headed over to the fireplace labeled "International Travel – European Connection." His time off from work following the final battle was over, and Hermione rather thought he was ready to return to hard manual labor to help him move past Fred's death.

After he disappeared in a swirl of green, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley turned to envelop Ron and Harry in rib-cracking hugs. Hermione stayed back while they said their goodbyes—the boys hadn't wanted to arrive at their first day of training with Ron's parents in tow—and patted Ginny on the back while she waited her turn. After another set of hugs, Mrs. Weasley stepped away from the boys and Ginny rushed forward to embrace Harry. Hermione smiled, happy to see her friend so surrounded by the love that had been missing in his life prior to his arrival at Hogwarts.

Honestly, a future as bright as this one had not been the expected outcome for The Boy Who Lived as recently as three months ago. Three months ago, they had been running for their lives, attempting to decipher the multitude of hints left to them by Dumbledore. Three months ago... Well, three months ago, Hermione hadn't been sure whether they'd all live to see another birthday, much less whether they'd defeat Voldemort and go on to be accepted into some of the most prestigious programs in the Wizarding world.

Feeling a bit weepy as she thought about how well things had truly turned out for them, Hermione was glad for the distraction when Harry detached himself from Ginny and came over to squeeze her hand.

"You're welcome to pop in at Grimmauld any time, you know," he told her.

"If McGonagall will let you out of the dungeons, that is," Ron added.

Hermione playfully shoved Ron with her free hand and squeezed Harry's hand back. Swallowing her tears, Hermione smiled into the green eyes of her best friend. "Learn something besides _Expelliarmus_, will you?" she teased him, her voice a bit on the raspy side.

"But it's worked so well for me thus far!" Harry quipped, and Hermione released a wavering laugh. Without warning, Harry let go of her hand and wrapped her in a tight hug.

"Don't hide away, alright?" Harry whispered into her ear. "We've done enough hiding for a lifetime." He released her to move back to Ginny, and Hermione wondered at his words. Before she had much time to ponder his cryptic message, however, Ron was standing in front of her, filling her entire field of vision.

"They'll all be watching for a proper goodbye," he murmured so softly only she could hear.

"Oh!" she gasped, her eyes widening. She was surprised to remember that no one else knew they'd broken up. Or maybe she was surprised that _she'd_ nearly forgotten they'd broken up. She didn't have time to sort out her confusion, though, because Ron was moving closer to her, sliding his arms around her waist. Glancing around shyly, she thought she saw a reporter discreetly trying to snap their picture. Hermione frantically hoped she could look convincing as she leaned up to kiss Ron, but once their lips met, Hermione stopped worrying. Despite being a few days out of practice, she quickly fell back into the familiar warmth and comfort that was _Ron_. She didn't have long to wait, anyway, since a loud throat-clearing from Mrs. Weasley accompanied by a number of cheers from other onlookers were enough to break Ron's concentration. He grinned at her before releasing her and Hermione tried to sear the image of that lop-sided smile into her memory forever. They were the only two who knew it, but that truly had been a goodbye kiss.

Now definitely more emotional than she preferred to be, Hermione waved as enthusiastically as the others as Ron and Harry joined the queue for the Ministry. Within a few minutes, it was their turn, and with a swoosh of green they were gone. Feeling suddenly dejected, Hermione let her hand drop. She'd been apart from the boys before, of course; it was just that usually their separation was a handful of hours at most. Even in Australia, Ron had been with her, so to have both him and Harry away from her now felt unnatural. Panic surged suddenly and Hermione tried to control her rapidly increasing breathing. _What if something terrible happened to them? What if something terrible happened to _her_?_

Then Ginny was there, lacing her fingers with Hermione's, and her strong, sure presence helped slow the racing of Hermione's heart. Returning Ginny's grip gratefully, Hermione smiled tentatively into the face of a girl she was coming to regard as a sister.

"We'll be alright," Hermione said, more to convince herself than anyone else.

"Of course we will," Ginny responded with a defiant flip of her hair. "They're the ones who ought to be worried—who's going to remind them to practice their spells or do their research? Or do their laundry, for that matter."

Laughing together, the girls approached Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were in conversation with an older wizard that Hermione did not know. As they drew closer, Hermione realized that their conversation was actually quite heated.

"—absolutely not! They're just kids—"

"—deserve the chance to find their way in the world without you lot speculating—"

"But don't you think it's _improper_—"

"Mum, Dad, are you ready to go?" Ginny interrupted. The man turned greedy eyes their way, and Hermione's skin crawled. She didn't know why he was arguing with the Weasleys, but she knew she didn't like him.

"Yes, dear, of course," Mrs. Weasley answered, clearly flustered.

"Hermione Granger, isn't it?" The man stepped neatly around Mr. Weasley and approached Hermione. "Rondo Romples, _Daily Prophet_. Is it true that you spent months upon months alone in a tent with The Boy Who Lived and his best friend? Care to tell me about those sleeping arrangements?" he asked with a decidedly sleazy wink.

Hermione felt her face flush red with anger and embarrassment. How dare he insinuate that they'd—that they'd—oh, she wanted to hex him into next week! Her wand was already out when Ginny placed a restraining hand on her arm. "Not worth it," the youngest Weasley muttered.

"And Ginevra Weasley! Tell me, you must have done something pretty special to capture the great Harry Potter's attention. Are there, perhaps, any baby broomsticks in your future?"

Before the man had so much as blinked, he was sprawled flat on his back, his nose bleeding and clearly broken. Ginny stood over him, her fists on her hips and a menacing look on her face. Hermione knew her eyes were round as saucers—she supposed the reformed DA had practiced more than spells if Ginny's brawling was that effective.

"You'll get worse than that the next time you insult me or my family!" Ginny growled at him. "Get out of my sight!"

The reporter scrambled up and ran away, yelling about how Harry Potter's deranged girlfriend had just attacked him without provocation. Mr. Weasley was smiling at his only daughter approvingly but Mrs. Weasley looked horrified. "Ginevra Molly Weasley! You do _not _punch other people in the face, no matter how nasty they are!"

"Yes, Mum," Ginny replied, not sounding regretful in the slightest.

"I thought he wasn't worth it?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ginny grinned wickedly and shrugged. "Wasn't worth a spell, maybe, but he was _definitely _deserving of _something_." Just then, Mrs. Weasley grabbed the collar of Ginny's robe and hauled her out of the warehouse, lecturing her all the while. Hermione stood nervously by Mr. Weasley, who was tapping a strangely purple Galleon with his wand. After a few moments, he pocketed the coin and turned to smile at Hermione as though nothing odd had just happened.

"Shall we?" he indicated the door and Hermione nodded, following him out. Once they were outside, he slowed his pace and spoke when Hermione had caught up to him. "Sorry about that. Rondo has always been too brash for anyone's comfort; I can't imagine how he ever manages to get any information out of people. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Hermione told Mr. Weasley. She knew people would be bound to gossip as they learned more and more about the trio's activities over the past year, but she hadn't really expected to be confronted by the worst of it in such a public venue. Still, she did _not _want to discuss the reporter's insinuations with Ron's dad. It would be tragic if she were to have survived everything else only to die of embarrassment.

"Well, don't let them get to you," Mr. Weasley said jovially. "Although I daresay you'll be safe from reporters at Hogwarts; I can't imagine Minerva would let a single one near any of her students—or professors." He smiled gently at Hermione. "Molly and I are just glad you kids are home safe, regardless of the circumstances," he told her as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

Hermione smiled weakly in return and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Would they still be so welcoming once they found out that she and Ron were no longer together? She was suddenly very aware of the fact that she'd be spending the next two weeks with the Weasleys—without the buffer of Ron's or Harry's presence.

Trying to change the subject, Hermione asked, "What was that purple coin you had just now?"

"Oh! Funny you should ask, seeing as you were the one who came up with the idea. They're a new prototype the Ministry's testing out—a new way to communicate. Patronuses are useful but not always practical, and of course owls can be rather slow. A few of us are testing out the charmed coins, seeing if they fit the needs of the Ministry. Discretion, of course, being one of those needs."

"So—you just messaged someone?" Hermione asked, amazed. She never thought her ingenious use of the _Protean _charm in fifth year would have such long-reaching effects.

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Sent a coded warning to Percy. He was waiting for the boys on the other end of the Floo. I didn't want them hearing about Ginny getting in an altercation with a reporter and coming straight back—they need to make a good first impression today, and Harry flying off the handle with the _Daily Prophet _wouldn't help."

"Wow," Hermione said, impressed. It seemed the new Ministry was, under Kingsley's guidance, trying to move forward and embracing new ideas. As they continued to trail behind Molly and Ginny, Hermione let her thoughts wander. Harry _would _be mad that someone had insulted Ginny, she knew; she just hoped he could calm down enough to concentrate on his training. For the first two weeks the boys would be training nearly round-the-clock; it wasn't until the initiation period was over that they'd be able to return to Grimmauld Place at night and on the weekends. Her thoughts were interrupted when Mr. Weasley spoke again.

"Kingsley was surprised at how quickly some of you youngsters turned up the night of the battle—and how many of you were there that shouldn't have been. He asked a few of them how they'd known, and they all held up their Galleons." Mr. Weasley smiled as he remembered. "Once Neville explained what they were, I must admit we were all very impressed. The Committee on Experimental Charms is working on a larger batch of the purple coins so that more of the Ministry employees can try them out. I'm certain you'd have a job there once you graduated if you want it."

"Wow," Hermione said again. It was all so surreal. Next, they'd be clamoring for her Undetectable Extension charm bag. Groaning, Hermione realized she'd probably need to clean that out before returning to Hogwarts. Maybe she'd do that once they got back to the Burrow.

Or maybe she'd wait and do it at the same time that she cleaned out and packed up her school things. Yes, waiting sounded much better. She wanted to be alone when she went through that bag thoroughly for the first time since the battle. Mentally cataloguing everything she had to do before school started, Hermione followed silently along behind the redheaded family as they made their way home.

* * *

_Find me._

Sighing, Hermione turned her back on the disturbing figure. Unfortunately, he just reappeared in front of her again.

_Find me. _

Hermione gritted her teeth and urged herself to wake up already.

_Find_—

A woman's shriek pierced the air, and Hermione bolted out of bed, her wand drawn and quickly illuminating the room.

"HARRY! NO!" Ginny's anguished cries tore at Hermione's heart and she dropped to her knees beside the other girl's bed.

"Wake up! Ginny, wake up." Hermione shook Ginny's shoulder gently, rewarded with a slap to the face as the half-asleep girl tried to fight her off. "It's just me, Hermione!" she whispered, leaning back out of reach.

"Hermione—what?" Ginny mumbled, sitting up and brushing her hair out of her face. Her eyes quickly grew more alert and she asked, "Harry, is he ok?"

"I—I'm sure he is, Ginny," Hermione said, confused. "You were dreaming. Just dreaming."

As Ginny looked around the small bedroom, she seemed to lose some of her panic, and without warning she was sobbing quietly into her nightdress. Hermione moved up onto the bed and wrapped her arms around Ginny, rubbing soothing circles into her back as she hummed an old lullaby her mum used to sing. Gradually Ginny's crying slowed, and eventually she was just sniffling into Hermione's shoulder.

Soon she sat back and wiped at her eyes, not meeting Hermione's gaze as she said, "It was when Hagrid carried him out of the Forest." Understanding immediately, Hermione leaned forward and gripped Ginny's hands tightly in her own, not saying anything while Ginny continued to compose herself. When Ginny seemed like she was breathing more normally again, Hermione stroked one hand down her hair.

"I have nightmares about that too sometimes," she confessed. "That it was real. That he _didn't _come back to us. Sometimes I wonder if—if I'll ever really forget that moment at all, or if it's burned into my memory for eternity."

Ginny leaned closer, too. "That's exactly it. I can smell the blood and the fire, feel the ashes and dirt on my skin. I don't just _dream _about it, Hermione, I—I _relive _it, all the time."

They sat in silence for a while, still holding hands. Finally, Hermione asked, "Have you told Harry?"

"Of course not," Ginny replied wearily. "He'd only worry and feel guilty. Honestly, the nightmares fade when I'm with him, but I reckon with him off doing who-knows-what—"

"He's at training, not gallivanting about London," Hermione pointed out, amused.

"I know, but think of all the women who're going to be throwing themselves at 'The Chosen One' now," Ginny mumbled grumpily. "It was hard enough fending off the likes of Romilda Vane; now I've got all Wizarding Britain to contend with."

"Ginny Weasley, jealous. I never thought I'd see the day." Hermione nudged Ginny teasingly, happy when Ginny's mouth twitched and she nudged her back.

"Come on, surely you're worried about Ron? Granted, he's loved you forever. Harry only noticed me when I was in fifth year."

"He noticed you before, Ginny, but you were his best mate's younger sister," Hermione explained. "And Ronald has most certainly _not _loved me forever, he—"

"Of course he has! He was just too dumb to realize it." Ginny snorted, her opinion of males in general and her brother in particular quite clear. Suddenly feeling very much alone, Hermione felt the urge to tell Ginny about what happened in Australia.

"Actually, Ron can help himself to those girls," Hermione said softly. "We broke up before we came back to England."

This announcement was met with silence, and she chanced a glance at Ginny's face. Ron's sister looked confused, though, not angry, so Hermione allowed herself a bit of relief.

"Why haven't you said so?" Ginny asked. "And wait—you danced with him the other night! And you—the two of you snogged each other pretty thoroughly at the warehouse today, for two people who aren't together," Ginny noted suspiciously. Hermione blushed and lowered the light on her wand.

"Yes, well, everyone was watching. You and Harry were setting quite the example, so we had to, ah, follow suit." Hermione cleared her throat. "We're not telling anyone right away. We just thought it might be better if we seemed to drift apart this semester—neither of us wanted any more media attention than we're already getting."

The reminder of the afternoon's run-in with Rondo Romples dampened the mood considerably. Hermione held her breath, waiting for Ginny to berate her for using Ron, but the rebuke never came.

"And here I thought you'd get to be my sister in reality," Ginny sighed. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I really am," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "It was hard to acknowledge it, but honestly, I think we were both just too scared to be apart, not necessarily too eager to be together, if that makes sense. We're still extremely close, though. I can't imagine a life without Ron or Harry."

"And you'll never have to," Ginny assured her. "Harry's never quite managed to put it into words, but I know he loves you like you're his own blood. I do, too, actually. I owe you so much for keeping him safe—"

"Hush. You would have done the same thing. You don't owe me anything." Hermione awkwardly patted Ginny on the arm. "Er, actually, though, if you could keep it quiet about me and Ron—"

Ginny laughed, and the sound echoed around the stillness of the room. "Don't worry, I won't say a thing, even to Harry," she promised. Then she grew serious. "Speaking of secrets, are you going to tell them about Snape's Horcrux?"

Hermione sat back and gazed out the small window, her eyes unfocused. Was she going to tell the boys about her suspicions? At this point, she truly didn't have any _conclusive _proof, just her intuitions. But then again, that's nearly all she'd had while they were searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes, and she'd been right most of the time then—dratted Hallows notwithstanding.

Shrugging helplessly, she plucked at a loose thread on the comforter. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I've gotten into the habit of saying anything on my mind at any time—we all did, those last few months. Sometimes your seemingly random thoughts were the ones that sparked someone else's brilliant idea. I'm not used to keeping anything from them, but this—it just feels different."

"They're not going to judge you, you know," Ginny murmured. Hermione looked up. "They'd die for you, Hermione; surely you know that?" Ginny smiled gently. "I'll keep your secrets as long as you want. But you shouldn't feel as though you have to hide from the boys. From anyone."

Hermione returned Ginny's smile before moving back to her own bed. As she listened to Ginny's breathing turn slow and even, she thought back over their conversation. That made twice in one day that someone she cared about told her not to hide. But she _wasn't _hiding, was she? What did they mean? Closing her eyes at last, Hermione felt her body relax as the now-familiar scene in the Shrieking Shack sprang to life around her.

* * *

**A/N: Don't get too excited - the next few chapters were pre-written a while back, so I just have to edit and post. I do not make any claims to keep this same update schedule after the pre-written chapters are up. :) My vision of the DA during DH is influenced in part by Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness written by thanfiction...but I always rather thought that they would have operated more like a military unit that last year at school purely out of necessity. So our Ginny is a force to be reckoned with, both physically and magically! **

**Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, and katie9635 for beta reading this chapter. ****As always, I am not JK Rowling and make no claims to own Harry Potter. *hysterical sobbing***


	12. Horcrux Hunting

**Chapter 12: Horcrux Hunting**

The next morning, Hermione woke before Ginny, and she left the redhead sleeping soundly. Ginny looked peaceful, and Hermione thought her friend needed all the rest she could get. Hell, _she _needed all the rest she could get. Tiptoeing into the bathroom, Hermione stared at herself in the mirror. The purple rings under her eyes hadn't gotten any better over the past few months and Hermione sighed before splashing cold water on her face. Luckily she wasn't in the market for a boyfriend—it would certainly seem suspicious if she started going on dates when she was supposed to still be with Ron.

Still, Hermione wondered if she ought to practice some basic cosmetic charms before school started. As a professor, she would need to command her students' respect, and she could hardly do that if she looked like an Inferi. Afraid to try anything on herself, however, Hermione decided she would ask Ginny for some hair and make-up spells later.

Hermione padded softly down the hallway to the twisting staircase, making her way towards the kitchen. With Percy and Charlie back at work and Harry and Ron gone, the Burrow was bizarrely silent. For the first time, Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for how lonely Mrs. Weasley must have felt every year when her kids went back to school. Just then, a muffled explosion and some muttering came from the direction of George's room.

Then again, perhaps Mrs. Weasley actually felt relieved, not lonely.

Continuing down the stairs with a smile on her face, Hermione instinctively stopped before she reached the first floor landing. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were standing just beside the kitchen table, talking quietly.

"I asked Ron when they got back and he said there wasn't an opportunity."

"I'm sure they'll figure it out, Molly; they're only kids after all."

"I know, but if they were only _engaged_ then all these rumors in the papers would go away—"

Her smile fading, Hermione clomped down the rest of the stairs, purposefully trying to make as much noise as possible. She reaffixed a smile on her face as she entered the kitchen and announced, "Good morning. I believe I'll go clean out my parents' house today." She hadn't planned on making the visit quite so soon, but after overhearing their whispered conversation, Hermione felt a driving force to escape for the day.

"Of course, dear, I think that would be just the thing," Mrs. Weasley said kindly, shooting a guilty glance towards Mr. Weasley. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you." Hermione sat and watched in silence as Molly bustled around the kitchen while Arthur read the _Daily Prophet_. Hermione tried to avert her eyes, but she couldn't help noticing the twin pictures on the top of the front page: one was Harry and Ginny passionately kissing at the Floo station, and the other...goodness, she and Ron certainly _looked _passionate. Fidgeting uncomfortably, Hermione was extremely grateful when Mrs. Weasley set a platter of toast and bacon down in front of her.

Meticulously spreading jam on her toast, Hermione kept her eyes down. The Weasleys had taken her in without question after she'd sent her parents off to Australia, and she repaid them by running away and now plastering herself and their son all over the newspaper. Abruptly setting her food down, Hermione twisted her hands together in her lap. She felt like a troll for the way she'd treated the Weasleys, and her stomach roiled queasily. Maybe she ought to move back into her parents' home until school started and just leave the Weasleys alone.

"Hermione? Is everything okay, dear?" Mrs. Weasley's motherly concern unaccountably brought tears to Hermione's eyes, and she shook her head, unable to put her feelings into words. She felt Molly's hand on her arm and heard the rustle of the newspaper as Arthur set it down.

"Shouldn't be reading that garbage in front you, Hermione, I'm sor—"

"Ron and I broke up!" Hermione blurted out, squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look at Ron's parents as she told them the story. "We're not together anymore; we just didn't want to say anything right away because we didn't want anyone to be upset. We were going to pretend to drift apart this year and hopefully by then the _P-Prophet _wouldn't have c-cared what we were d-doing—"

Warm, soft arms wrapped around Hermione and held her close. Hermione began to cry in earnest, ashamed of herself and the way she had treated the family who had cared for her like she was their own. They were already mourning the loss of one of their sons, and now she had gone and callously tossed aside another.

"Hermione, dear, don't cry," Mrs. Weasley murmured into her hair. "Everything's alright. Arthur, get her some tea, please."

Hermione forced herself to stop crying and tried to pull away, but Mrs. Weasley kept a surprisingly strong grip on her. Mr. Weasley set a cup of tea down in front of her and Mrs. Weasley began to pat her back.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I'll be sending Ronald a Howler later today—"

"No! Oh, no, that's not it at all. It was—well, it was mutual, although I-I was the one who b-brought it up in the first place," Hermione stammered. "I just—we both—it was—"

"You don't have to explain," Mr. Weasley interjected gently. "These things happen."

Gulping, Hermione nodded once. She kept her eyes focused on her teacup. "I'm really sorry for lying to you. I'll pack my things." Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"Pack your things? You've nowhere else to go until school starts, and don't try to tell me you want to live in the dustbin that's become your parents' house." Mrs. Weasley turned Hermione to face her. "You're _always _welcome here, whether you're dating our children or not," she said firmly. "And that's that."

Hermione could hardly believe what she was hearing, but Mrs. Weasley looked sincere. Glancing at Mr. Weasley, she saw him nodding in agreement.

"She's right, Hermione. You're our family now. You've kept my boys and Ginny safe more times than I can count. We won't hear of you running off to live somewhere else just because you think you don't deserve to stay here."

Humbled once again by the compassion that embodied the Weasley family, Hermione only nodded. Mrs. Weasley gave her another fortifying pat on the back before returning to the sink and tidying up some dishes. Mr. Weasley smiled kindly at her and picked up his newspaper once more. Hermione took a few sips of tea to compose herself before she blubbered all over them again. This was so unexpected but so, _so _welcome. Relieved that Ron's family knew their secret now and didn't seem to care, Hermione wondered if perhaps the rest of the Wizarding world would be equally as nonchalant.

No, probably not. She, Harry, and Ron were currently the darlings of the Wizarding world at large and their every movement was cause for celebration, speculation, and commentary. Their break-up would probably be portrayed as a rift in the material that had previously been compared to Goblin-made armor: impenetrable. They'd just have to keep quiet about it until something else came along to intrigue the Wizarding population.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Ginny, who immediately noticed Hermione's reddened eyes and rushed over. "What's happened? Are you okay? Ron? Harry?" Ginny quickly glanced at each person in the kitchen in turn, her usual composure obviously still shaken by her nightmare from last night.

"Everyone's fine, dear. Hermione was just telling us—well, it's not my place to say." Mrs. Weasley firmly pressed Ginny into her seat and set some breakfast down in front of her.

"It's alright, Ginny already knows. I told them about Ron and me," Hermione said to Ginny.

"Oh. And they didn't care, did they? I tried to tell you, Hermione," Ginny said, visibly relaxing and tucking into her food with gusto to rival Ron's.

"I just feel awful. Here I've been pressuring Ron to ask you to marry him! The poor dear must have been so embarrassed." Mrs. Weasley shook her head and tsked.

"He actually—well, he did propose," Hermione admitted. "In Australia. We'd agreed that we just wanted to sort our lives out first but he..." Hermione gazed off into the living room as she remembered how he'd taken her to the beach and fallen to his knees in the sand. She was recalled to the present moment by the utter silence in the kitchen, and she looked around to see three faces nearly identical in their shock.

"Ron _proposed? _Eurgh," Ginny squealed. Hermione supposed it was a reaction borne of having six older brothers—she doubted Ginny ever wanted to hear the details of any of their love lives.

"It was quite sweet, really," Hermione told her truthfully. It _had _been sweet. And, if it had been any other girl, Hermione suspected Ron would have gotten quite a different answer. The idea made her stomach clench, whether in regret or jealousy she wasn't quite sure.

"Well. That is—well." Mrs. Weasley seemed to be at a loss for words, and she set the sponge in the sink to washing the dishes piled up there. If possible, Hermione felt even worse than before. Not only had she broken up with their son and brother, but now she'd also confessed to turning down his proposal. Today was shaping up to be the perfect day to spend at her parents' house after all.

"Hope he didn't bungle it as much as I did when I proposed to your mother," Mr. Weasley remarked jovially. "Called her 'Moppy Prewlett' and forgot which pocket the ring was in—I spent an agonizing four minutes kneeling on the ground searching my jacket for it. Thankfully your mother is the forgiving sort!"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared a smile and Hermione found herself smiling as well. _That _was what she wanted—a complete acceptance of each other's faults and foibles. As much as she loved Ron and he loved her, Hermione just wasn't sure the two of them were cut out to live in harmony forever.

The mood in the kitchen returned to its usual cheeriness as Hermione and Ginny ate their breakfast together. Mr. Weasley surreptitiously passed them the page of the paper with the picture of Ginny clocking Rondo Romples, winking at his daughter as he did so. Oblivious, Mrs. Weasley continued to discuss the shopping trip they'd need to make to Diagon Alley before the girls returned to school, and Hermione let her mind drift.

* * *

"Hermione, dear, are you coming with us to Diagon Alley?" Mrs. Weasley asked kindly.

"Thank you, but I really do think I'll spend the entire day at—at home." It felt strange to say that word in reference to her childhood house. For so long, Hogwarts had also been her home, and then last year 'home' had only been wherever Harry and Ron were, and now—well, did she really have a home now?

Pushing away the melancholy thoughts, she began to make a plan of action for visiting the house. She had no idea what state it would be in, and abruptly she wondered if it was wise to go there without some sort of Ministry escort. If the Death Eaters _had _gone looking for her parents, it stood to reason that they might have left a few Dark spells and enchantments waiting for the unsuspecting Muggle couple and their erstwhile daughter. Thinking hard, she didn't register that Mr. Weasley was speaking to her right away.

"—need an Auror, of course."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid I was woolgathering." Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts.

"I was simply saying that the Ministry cleared your parents' house a few weeks ago. I know you're of a mind to visit there today and I don't believe you'll need an Auror to accompany you." He paused and looked kindly at her. "It will be emotional enough, going back; I daresay you wouldn't want an audience anyway. I will warn you, however, that the Ministry only removed the curses placed there—they didn't do any clean up, I'm afraid."

"Clean up?"

"Er, yes. Did no one tell you?" His eyes darted over towards Mrs. Weasley, and she came to his rescue.

"You were right to get them out of danger, Hermione," the matriarch told her gently. "Apparently they left the house a bit of a mess, looking for traces of you or your parents. It—well, it was in the _Prophet_, but I forget that you kids didn't have access to the papers. People were quite upset about it at the time."

"They ransacked my parents' house?" Hermione asked, surprised. She'd gotten her parents out of the country for exactly this reason, but still, it was hard to believe that she'd merited such attention from Voldemort and his followers. Any lingering guilt she'd harbored about fiddling with her parents' memories was absolved at that moment.

"Only the inside, and nothing that can't be fixed with a little hard work, I believe," Mr. Weasley offered. "Didn't want to draw the neighbors' attention."

Ginny immediately began ranting about the Death Eaters and the Ministry's lack of an attack plan during the second rise of Voldemort, but Hermione tuned her out. When she pictured her childhood home, she remembered it as it had been: whole. The idea of seeing the destruction firsthand was slightly terrifying, but at least the Weasleys had warned her.

And what of the Horcrux? Surely the rampaging Death Eaters wouldn't have bothered with her school things, would they? Then another thought occurred to her. What if one of the Death Eaters recognized the object for what it was? What if they had taken it, or worse, destroyed it?

No. She couldn't afford to think like that, not until she'd seen the house with her own eyes, at any rate. Surely, if Professor Snape's Horcrux had been destroyed, she wouldn't still be dreaming about him, would she? Content with her reasoning for the time being, Hermione excused herself from the table and went upstairs to grab her beaded bag.

Ten minutes later, she stood in front of her home, a feeling of welcome mingling with dread. The house looked the same as always, but she could tell that something wasn't quite right. It just seemed empty, which she supposed it was. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up the front walk and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, the utter destruction was the first thing she noticed. The furniture lay in unrecognizable splinters, the wallpaper she'd picked out when she was seven was torn from the walls, and most chillingly, the message "GIVE US YOUR DAUGHTER AND WE'LL LET YOU LIVE" was carved into the plaster just above the fireplace.

Scowling, Hermione thought the Ministry ought to have at least removed the message. Deciding that setting the house to rights would have to wait for later, she delicately climbed the stairs to the second floor. Several steps were broken, and the rest were strewn with dust and debris. Hermione shuddered when she imagined what they'd done to _her _bedroom.

Pushing her door open, it took Hermione a moment to process what she was seeing. Her room was pristine; untouched. But it didn't make any sense—surely the Death Eaters would have been most interested in her possessions? Weren't they looking for clues to her or Harry's whereabouts? Idly circling the room, Hermione searched for a reasonable explanation. All she could think of, however, was that the Death Eaters who had ransacked her house were only interested in terrifying her parents into submission. Apparently they hadn't deemed schoolgirl diaries or stuffed animals worth their time. Or perhaps they had only meant to kidnap her parents and use them to draw Hermione into Voldemort's clutches.

Except—some of her possessions _were _out of place. For instance, her bookshelf had always been sorted by subject and then alphabetized by author according to her system, and the books weren't in disarray—but they were most certainly out of order. And there, on her desk: the pencils were sitting in their canister pointing _up _instead of _down_ as she normally stored them. Examining the room more closely, Hermione noticed these sorts of inconsistencies everywhere. It seemed that someone had taken the time to restore order here—but who? She was at a loss to explain it.

Regardless, she heaved a sigh of relief when she located the boxes of her school things tucked neatly under the bed. Lowering herself to the floor, she examined the labels: _Year 1, Term 1; Year 1, Term 2; Summer Readings, Years 1-4; OWL Supplemental Study Materials; _and so on. Quickly she located the box marked _Year 6, Term 2_ and tugged it out from beneath the bed. Biting her lip in anticipation, she removed the lid and immediately came face-to-face with the supposed Horcrux.

Since it had arrived late, she hadn't had a chance to file it properly with the rest of her school papers, so it lay atop the others in the box. _Excellent work, Miss Granger _and a big, spiky O stared back at her, mocking her. Now that she suspected his reasons behind the grade, she found that she was less enthralled with the Outstanding score.

"Bloody git," she muttered, gingerly lifting the paper and turning it over and over in her hands. She still remembered the conflicting emotions she'd felt upon receiving it last summer—sheer joy at finally accomplishing this feat; utter revulsion at Professor Snape's involvement in Dumbledore's death; pride, disappointment, fear, confusion.

Always confusion.

But it made sense, now, if he truly had made this his Horcrux. She wondered what it said about his mental state at the time if he had entrusted his very soul to Hermione Granger, insufferable know-it-all. _Well, Hermione, you can ask him about it when you go to find him in the Forest, _her practical side said.

Eyeing the parchment, Hermione experimentally tore at one corner. Nothing happened—the paper refused to be torn. She supposed that was a good sign. Next she attempted to crumple it, but magically, the parchment resisted her movements. Standing, she placed it on her bed, drew her wand, and followed Ginny's example.

"_Incend—_aaaaaahhhhhh!"

A second roll of parchment had materialized out of nowhere, drifting gently down to rest on top of the homework assignment. Hermione didn't need to be nearer the bed to recognize the writing—she'd been seeing that same awful scrawl across her papers for the last six years. Carefully stepping closer, Hermione leaned over to read the missive. She didn't dare touch it until she could be certain it meant her no harm.

_Congratulations, Miss Granger. _

Hermione took an involuntary step back, eyes widening. She could practically _hear _Professor Snape sneering the words at her. But it was just a letter, she reminded herself, and she stepped back to the bed once more.

_You have managed to put your overly analytical mind to the task of discovering my great secret, and you have succeeded. I know you will be overcome with questions so allow me to answer the most pertinent one: this _is _a Horcrux. _My _Horcrux. I am expecting you to take great care of it, a feat of trust which has countered every instinct that I have and grated on every nerve that I possess. If you are half as clever as everyone seems to think, you will know what to do now. _

Well, that wasn't exactly as much of a 'thank you' as she might have expected. Glaring at the missive from her former professor, Hermione read on, hoping he might elaborate on what her next steps should be.

_I did what I could with your room. Regrettably I will be unable to repair the rest of the house. –SS_

Scowling, Hermione imagined the gleeful, _unregretful _tone of his last line, and briefly debated sticking the damned thing back into her school box and forgetting all about it. But he knew her too well—she loved nothing more than a good challenge, and this was one that she could never refuse.

Shaking her head, Hermione carefully tucked the Horcrux into her beaded bag, wondering what to do with it now that she had it. Perhaps Professor Snape would give her a clue in her dreams tonight.

* * *

**A/N: Don't get too excited - the next few chapters were pre-written a while back, so I just have to edit and post. I do not make any claims to keep this same update schedule after the pre-written chapters are up. :) I love the Weasleys, they're such a lovely family! And their expressions when Hermione tells them Ron proposed - oh, I can just imagine them. Haha. **

**Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, and katie9635 for beta reading this chapter. ****As always, I am not JK Rowling and make no claims to own Harry Potter. *banging my head on the desk in despair***


	13. Harry's Letter

**Chapter 13: Harry's Letter**

The days that followed her discovery at her parents' house went by in a whirl. Mrs. Weasley took Hermione and Ginny shopping at Diagon Alley, and Hermione spent an eye-opening hour in Flourish and Blotts as she reviewed the book lists for her students with one of the shop managers. It seemed there was a great deal more to teaching than even she had realized.

Mr. Weasley brought news of the boys home from the Ministry most days, although there wasn't much to report while they were in their initial phase of intensive training. Harry and Ron hadn't even had the time—or the energy—to scribble out a letter to anyone, although one evening a silvery stag burst into the living room carrying the simple message, "I love you, Ginny." Ron's terrier Patronus rushed in right behind it, panting, "Love you, too, Hermione. And, er, Mum. And Dad." Clearly Ron had hurried to send a message after Harry's to avoid suspicion about his and Hermione's current status, so Hermione sent her otter back, telling him that his family knew about their split, but thank you for the message anyway. She wondered whether he'd told Harry about it yet or not.

Soon, talk turned to Harry's approaching birthday. July thirty-first coincided with the boys' first day off of training, and Mrs. Weasley had decided to throw a party for Harry. A small family gathering had quickly turned into a full-blown extravaganza, however, as more and more well-meaning people weighed in or invited themselves to the festivities. The final guest list numbered more than a hundred people, but at Hermione and Ginny's insistence it had been pared down from well over two hundred. Ministry officials, a contingent from Hogwarts, surviving Order members—it seemed that everyone was going to celebrate the end of the war by celebrating Harry's birthday.

Hermione knew Harry was going to be embarrassed by all the attention, but she also knew that he would gracefully accept the heartfelt gratitude of the Wizarding world, because he knew they needed him still. Privately, Hermione was rather glad that it wasn't _her _in a relationship with Harry. She didn't know if she could withstand the constant scrutiny and hero worship.

A few days before the party, Hermione was organizing her trunk for the return to Hogwarts while the Weasley siblings had escaped outside for a game of two-a-side Quidditch. An owl swooped into the open window, dropping a letter neatly on Hermione's bed. The regal-looking creature seemed to salute her before he flew off again. Turning the letter over, she saw that it was sealed with the purple wax of the Ministry. Wondering what it could be, she quickly opened it.

It was from Harry. Hermione's heart involuntarily stuttered as a myriad of terrible situations presented themselves—Ron had been expelled from the program, Harry was seriously injured—but then her logic reasserted itself and she reckoned that if the news were dire or urgent, Harry would simply have sent his Patronus. Breaking the wax seal with one finger, Hermione opened the missive and began to read.

_Hermione,_

_Don't worry, everything's fine. _

Hermione smiled. It seemed Harry knew her well enough to know exactly where her thoughts had just gone.

_How are you? Training's been a real Bludger, but we love it. Still, Ron and I are looking forward to some time off this weekend. The party should be a lot of fun—hopefully Mrs. Weasley's not running you and Ginny ragged, though. (Ron says better you lot than him—ha, ha.) _

_Anyway, Hermione, I was hoping you could do me a favor. Could you, um, make sure Ginny's wearing nice dress robes for the party? You're the best. Can't wait to see you and tell you all about the Aurory! _

_Love, _

_Harry_

And, cramped into the margins of the letter, familiar handwriting of a different nature.

_Hey Hermione—wait til you see all the new spells we've learned! I, er, love you too. –Ron_

Well, that answered that—Ron hadn't told Harry yet. Folding up the letter with a smile, Hermione's thoughts turned to the message hidden among Harry's words. He must be proposing at the party—there was really no other explanation for his sudden concern over Ginny's clothing. Boys could be so transparent sometimes.

Shaking her head, Hermione stood and contemplated how she was going to trick the youngest Weasley into getting gussied up for the party without tipping Harry's hand. She walked past a sleeping Crookshanks to stare out of Ginny's tiny window, watching the distant flashes of red as the siblings flew about. No brilliant ideas came to her, however.

Admitting defeat, Hermione moved away from the window and tucked the letter into her trunk. She just wasn't devious, not in the way she needed to be in order to fool Ginny. Still, for Harry's sake, she had to try. Unfortunately, there was only one way she could think of.

* * *

"You want me to _what?_" The rounded eyes and slack mouth gave away Ginny's total surprise even if her exclamation hadn't.

"I _asked_," Hermione gritted painfully, "if you would help do me up for Harry's party."

The two friends stood staring at each other for a long moment while Ginny clearly tried to process Hermione's request, and Hermione attempted to look convincing. Offering herself up to be made over for the party was the only method guaranteed to surprise the Weasley girl enough to hopefully throw her off the scent of Hermione's true motives. Hermione mentally calculated the number of favors Harry would owe her for this humiliation.

"Let me get this straight." Ginny's eyes narrowed and she stepped closer to Hermione. _Uh oh_. "You want me to fix your hair up, do your makeup, help you pick out a fancy dress _and _shoes, _and _you want me to give you a manicure, too?"

Hermione nodded, ruthlessly quashing the urge to just come out with it and tell Ginny. If their situations were reversed, Hermione would certainly want to know what to expect, but she just couldn't betray Harry like that. Besides, there was the small chance that she was wrong about Harry's letter.

"I see. Hoping to snare yourself someone new now that you've tossed my brother out with the rubbish, are you?" Ginny asked condescendingly.

Hermione's stomach dropped to her knees. "What? No! Ginny, I would never! I wouldn't even be asking you if—" Hermione caught herself just in time. Ginny's gaze had sharpened at her words, and now it was Hermione's turn to narrow her eyes. "You did that on purpose, you meddling witch," Hermione accused her without rancor.

Ginny merely shrugged a shoulder and smiled. "People are more likely to accidentally tell you something when they're angry," she said.

"The Aurors better watch out next year," Hermione muttered. This time Ginny's grin spread across her whole face.

"So. If you're not hunting for a new man, then why all the glitz and glamour?" Ginny asked, her previous interrogative tone replaced by genuine curiosity.

"It'll be the first time since the memorials that we're all together, won't it?" Hermione gave her answer with all the guilelessness that she had practiced last night. "There's bound to be paparazzi there. I just want to look professional in the papers—not like last time." She grimaced as she remembered the way Mr. Weasley had tried to tactfully cover the picture of her and Ron snogging as he'd read the last _Daily Prophet _with her name splashed all over it.

"That's a good point," Ginny sighed. "Do you think once I've shown you the spells, you can do them on me, too? I don't want to look a fright next to you!"

"Of course!" Hermione agreed enthusiastically. Ginny had fallen in with her plan rather more easily than expected.

"Thanks, Hermione," Ginny said sincerely before her eyes lit up. "We'd better ask Mum to go shopping today, though—the party's only two days away and we need dresses!"

Hermione's stomach plummeted again.

* * *

After a long day of shopping, Hermione fell gratefully into bed. Ginny and Molly had been relentless, dragging her all over Wizarding Britain as they searched for the perfect dresses to wear to Harry's party. Even Mrs. Weasley had gotten in on the excitement, purchasing herself a brand new set of dress robes in a flattering shade of eggplant. Hermione couldn't be happier for the redheaded family—Kingsley had awarded yearly stipends to all the families who had lost members during Voldemort's reign, and the amount of money the Weasleys received in honor of Fred was enough to allow them a few splurges now and again.

Drifting into sleep with a smile still lingering on her face, Hermione was unsurprised when the grisly environs of the Shrieking Shack sprang up around her.

"_Find me_," she muttered before Professor Snape had a chance. "I get it. Find you. No problem. Now leave me alone."

The dead man glared at her but said nothing. Thankfully, The Dream shifted and she was soon chasing nifflers down a long, empty hallway while Sybill Trelawney tossed crystal balls at her head. When she woke in the morning, her memories of The Dream faded away quickly as she and Ginny got caught up in the excitement of the coming party.

As the girls readied themselves for breakfast, Hermione asked if Ginny would do her nails that day. "I might need a couple of tries to get it right on yours," she admitted to Ginny. "I don't want to leave it until tomorrow to find out."

"I don't think I'm going to have mine painted," Ginny replied. "But I'll still do yours."

Hermione began to feel panicky. _She _knew that Ginny's left hand was a day away from being photographed excessively and broadcast all over the world, and if it were her, she'd want her nails looking presentable. Nervously she bit her lip. How hard could she push Ginny without making the other girl suspicious?

"Oh, but it will be fun! We'll—ah—match!" Hermione blurted out. She thought she saw a glint in Ginny's eyes, but it was gone before she could be certain.

"Well, if it means that much to you, then alright," Ginny conceded, moving closer. "I think I'd like a pattern on mine—maybe a dragon going all across one hand, or flames!"

Now Hermione was really panicking. "I, uh, I'm sure I'm not good enough to do that," she insisted. "How about a nice French manicure instead? It will look really, um, nice." She cringed as she said the words.

"Ah-ha! Harry's proposing, isn't he?" Ginny pounced on Hermione, pulling her to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I—What? How did you know?" Harry was going to kill her.

"I didn't until you confirmed it," Ginny said smugly.

Hermione grimaced. "I was trying not to give it away."

"Come on, Hermione. You asked me to make you up for a _birthday party_. Even a Hufflepuff would question your motives."

Hermione snorted indelicately. "Promise you won't tell Harry I told you?"

Ginny waved a hand dismissively. "I'll act surprised, don't worry. Besides, I had my suspicions two weeks ago when he took a massive amount of Galleons out of his vault at Gringotts."

"How do you know he did that?"

Blushing slightly, Ginny admitted, "Apparently Harry made me the recipient of his estate in the event of his death—I'm guessing before you all went on the run last year."

Nodding at Ginny to continue, Hermione's brain began to whir.

"And, apparently, he was considered dead during that whole thing with Voldemort in the forest. There was a bank owl waiting for me when we finally got back to the Burrow after the final battle with the notification that I'd inherited. I—I never told anyone. I guess when everything reverted back to Harry, ownership was never fully rescinded from me."

"Because who would ever write a clause about what to do if you miraculously came _back _to life?" Hermione murmured slowly. Her thoughts were ricocheting around too quickly for her to put them together coherently.

"Exactly." Ginny nodded. "Anyway, I haven't used his accounts or anything, but I am privy to the balance—and I know he took out two thousand Galleons right before going into the Aurory. And I _know _they're not spending that kind of money while they're in their initiation phase of training."

"You've got a point," Hermione replied, somewhat distracted. "But—when would they have got out to actually _spend _it? They've been in intensive training for the past two weeks."

"Well, I have my suspicions about that, too," Ginny confessed. Hermione just raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you read in the _Prophet _a week ago that they did a practice drill in Hogsmeade?"

"They evacuated everyone on the main road in town. What's that have to do with him buying you a ring, though?" Hermione focused on her friend, her confusion crinkling her brow.

"But did you _read _the article?" Ginny persisted. Hermione shook her head no. "The _Prophet _only got wind of it because there was one eyewitness—one person they _didn't _evacuate—Gladomir Glittzendo."

Ginny gave Hermione a look that was clearly supposed to be significant, but Hermione was at a loss. "I'm sorry—who?"

"Gladomir Glittzendo! Of Gladomir's Gems? The _jeweler_?"

"Oh!" Hermione's eyes widened momentarily before she narrowed them at Ginny. "You're quite the sleuth," she said.

With her customary hair flip, Ginny grinned cheekily at Hermione. "I like to know what I'm up against at all times," she stated.

"Apparently," Hermione replied. "Your brother always says this to me, but I think it applies more to you: you're scary, you know that? Brilliant, but scary."

Ginny's delighted laughter filled the room, and she set about charming Hermione's nails a pretty shade of bronze. As she chattered about the guest list for the party tomorrow, Hermione let her mind wander. Something in their conversation was nagging at her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

_What was it? _she wondered. It had been while they were discussing Harry's Gringotts account passing to Ginny. Maybe she was just stuck on the mention of the Wizarding bank. Admittedly, Hermione wasn't exactly on Gringotts' list of most adored patrons—she _had _snuck in and robbed a high-security vault.

And then destroyed half the place on her way out.

Still, she didn't think her not-quite-guilty conscience was the reason for her disquietude. Unable to assemble her niggling doubt into a cohesive theory, however, Hermione reluctantly decided that it would just have to come to her on its own. As she tuned back into Ginny's one-sided conversation, Hermione realized Ginny was explaining how to do the charm so that the nail color wouldn't smudge.

Examining her nails, Hermione was pleased to note that the bronze color would complement her dress for tomorrow quite well. Then Ginny stuck her hands under Hermione's nose.

"I believe you promised me a French manicure?" she prompted. Focusing all her attention on Ginny's hands, Hermione forgot about Gringotts and the intricacies of Wizarding inheritance.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was carefully laying her new dress on her bed when Ginny swished into their room.

"Ready for your transformation?" the redhead asked gleefully, and Hermione inwardly cursed Harry again.

"As I'll ever be," she mumbled, following Ginny across the hall into the bathroom. It took close to an hour, but by the end, Hermione's curls had been oiled, coiled, pinned, and puffed. The result was, Hermione admitted grudgingly, nothing short of stunning. Ginny hadn't straightened Hermione's hair like she'd expected. Instead, her natural curls had been gathered up in a classic knot, leaving her face and neck feeling quite exposed. Ginny had coaxed a few loose curls into good behavior at the sides of her face, and then adorned the lot with a number of tiny braids and sparkling pins. The result, while not ostentatious, was nonetheless breath-taking. Every way she turned, Hermione was amazed at the subtle sophistication of the style.

"Wow," she breathed, truly impressed. "Thank you, Ginny." Hermione tentatively ran one fingertip along a miniscule braid until it disappeared into the bun.

"You're quite welcome." Ginny tilted her head to assess Hermione's reflection in the mirror. "You know, it's a good thing you aren't looking for a lover today, or else I'd have to keep a very close eye on Harry. You really do look stunning."

Hermione blushed. "Harry's like my brother, you know that." Turning to face Ginny, she eyed the other girl's smooth red locks and asked uncertainly, "Do you want me to do yours now?"

To her surprise, Ginny burst out laughing. "Thank you, but no. I'm quite capable of doing my own hair up all fancy—I've been doing it since I was six."

Hermione grinned sheepishly and made to stand, but Ginny stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "I believe you also needed some makeup?"

Thirty minutes later, Hermione stood before her bed a new person. Ginny's skill with cosmetic spells was something to envy, even if Hermione personally didn't have much use for them in her daily life. And the dress that the Weasley women had selected for her—well, suffice it to say that maybe Hermione needed to rethink her position on the frivolity of fancy clothing.

She looked _amazing_. Not just good, or different, but drop-dead _wow_. Hermione allowed a smile to play about her lips as she indulged in a moment of sheer feminine vanity. The deep forest green of the dress perfectly complemented her skin tones, and the bronze shimmer to the silky fabric brought out the warmness of her hair and eyes. Ginny's cosmetic touches had been light but effective, enhancing Hermione's eyes, lips, and cheekbones. Staring at herself in Ginny's full-length mirror, Hermione was simply fascinated.

Ginny entered the room then, her hair and makeup also complete. Her hairstyle was simple—she had added a hint of curl to the ends of her strands—but her makeup was intricate, Hermione could tell. The level of difficulty for the even lines of Ginny's eyeliner was far beyond Hermione's capabilities. "I hope we're not running late. I want to be there when the boys get here, although maybe it would be better if—oh, my gosh!" Finally catching sight of Hermione, Ginny's mouth fell open. "You should never take that dress off again," she suggested. "You look fabulous!"

Hermione grinned fully. "You don't look so bad yourself, although you'd better hurry and get changed—I think your dad left to get the boys a few minutes ago."

Nodding, Ginny tore her eyes away from Hermione and started to strip out of her flannel pajamas. Hermione's newfound ego thought Ginny had looked away rather reluctantly, and she began to preen even as she tried to unearth her practical side. Then Ginny unbuttoned her blouse and Hermione gasped.

"What is that?" she asked, moving closer to examine the black lettering on the back of Ginny's hip.

"Oh, that's my DA tattoo," the other girl answered nonchalantly. "We all got them. Don't tell Mum, though—I don't reckon she'd approve."

"No, I suppose not." Hermione bent to examine the tattoo. A date,_ 2/5/1998_, was inked in smaller lettering just under a large, artistically stylized _DA_. Beneath the date, in even smaller lettering, was the phrase _Still Recruiting_. Hermione straightened but couldn't take her eyes off the tattoo. What horrors must they have lived through if they had all permanently marked their bodies? Clearly, the bonds among the old Dumbledore's Army crew ran deeper than Hermione had ever realized.

Ginny cleared her throat and Hermione shook herself out of her contemplation of Ginny's hip. "Help me with this, will you?" the younger girl asked, shimmying herself into a fall of champagne silk. Hermione did up the buttons on the back and helped Ginny adjust the ruching around the one-shoulder strap and waist. Stepping over to Ginny's vanity table, she returned with the resplendent ruby necklace that Ginny was to wear. Fastening it around her friend's neck, Hermione had to clap a hand over her mouth as Ginny stepped past the window to stand in front of the mirror.

With the sunlight hitting the enchanted fabric, Ginny's dress came to life. Gold sparkled and shimmered in every direction, and the rubies glittered at Ginny's throat. The silk confection wrapped around Ginny like a lover, encasing her slender body and showing off her athletic build. Ginny's long red hair flowed down her back like a waterfall, and Hermione felt a stab of envy. As Ginny twirled in the mirror, Hermione couldn't look away. Her friend was like a dancing flame, an explosion of light, the essence of the stars—

"Hermione? Are you alright? You're looking at me like you want to devour me." Ginny faced her with an expression of amused concern.

"I think I _do _want to devour you, a bit," Hermione replied slowly. "Ginny...there aren't words."

Ginny grinned and flipped her hair over her shoulders. "I ought to look damn good in the _Prophet_ tomorrow, then," she declared.

"Don't be modest. They'll put out a special edition as soon as Harry pops the question." The two girls shared a conspiratorial smile. "Let's never change out of these clothes again," Hermione laughed. Linking arms, the two girls headed downstairs to wait for the birthday boy to arrive.

* * *

**A/N: Don't get too excited - the next few chapters were pre-written a while back, so I just have to edit and post. I do not make any claims to keep this same update schedule after the pre-written chapters are up. :) If only magic were real and we could all carefully tailor our own clothes, hair, and make up, am I right? Sigh. I think I did the date of the final battle properly - day/month/year? **

**Coming up with Wizarding names is hard, you guys.**

**Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, and katie9635 for beta reading this chapter. ****As always, I am not JK Rowling and make no claims to own Harry Potter. *whhhhyyyyy***


	14. Birthday Engagement

**Chapter 14: Birthday Engagement**

The crowd of people mingling on the Weasleys' lawn collectively gasped when Hermione and Ginny stepped into the late-afternoon sunlight. Hermione couldn't suppress her broad smile and she saw that Ginny was grinning widely as well. Thankfully, it seemed most everyone else had used the occasion to dust off their finer robes, too, so the two girls weren't ridiculously overdressed.

Just a _little _overdressed.

Hermione had to suppress a giggle as she remembered exactly why they looked so nice, and she squeezed Ginny's arm conspiratorially. At that moment, a flash went off from the direction of the garden hedges, and Bill strode over to pull a hapless-looking little man holding a camera out from the bushes.

"Rondo," Ginny hissed. Hermione could only describe the other girl's expression as mercenary.

"Leave him," Hermione whispered, restraining Ginny as best she could without being obvious. "Harry will be here soon and tonight's not the night to cause a scene!"

She could feel Ginny's reluctant acquiescence, and loosened her grip on the younger girl's arm. Thankfully, Luna approached them then, and Hermione and Ginny turned their attention to their friend.

"Good evening," Luna chirped. "Only I wish someone had told me we were dressing in earth tones—I'd have worn my burnt orange robes instead of the dusty rose."

"You look lovely, Luna," Hermione supplied earnestly. "There wasn't a set color scheme—"

Her reassurances were interrupted by three loud _cracks! _and the appearance of Mr. Weasley with Harry and Ron right behind him. Cheers went up from the assembly but Hermione barely heard them. Instead, she was gazing at Ron, her mouth open in an 'o' of surprise.

Evidently, their first two weeks of Auror training had included a great deal of strength conditioning as well, because Ron's rangy frame had built up a layer of toned muscle. Hermione barely recognized his as the same body she'd clasped in the Floo station just two weeks ago—each muscle was precisely defined and Hermione was suddenly, intensely glad that she'd talked Ginny into dressing her up. Swallowing convulsively, Hermione wet her lips as the boys approached. Harry, of course, only had eyes for Ginny—and honestly, given the brilliance of her dress, who didn't?

Except that Ron appeared to only have eyes for _Hermione_, and she was at once excited and nervous. As the two boys prowled closer, Hermione released Ginny's arm and took a small step sideways. She didn't want to be in the way when Harry inevitably swept Ginny into a passionate embrace. And sweep her into an embrace he did—Harry grabbed Ginny and bent her over his arm as he kissed her to much applause from the partygoers. Hermione, however, kept her eyes on Ron as he stopped directly in front of her.

"I'll have to head off to Auror training more often, if this is the reception I get," he murmured a bit huskily as he eyed her hair and dress. Hermione made to swat him on the arm, but Ron merely grabbed her wrist and tugged her against him.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked, unsure where to place her hands as Ron's arms enveloped her.

"They'll expect us to be happy to see each other, too," he whispered into her ear.

"Oh. Right," Hermione said faintly. _Great_. The last thing she'd wanted was another photo of her snogging Ronald Weasley on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. She didn't have much time to dwell on it, though, because suddenly Ron was kissing her and she was kissing him back. It felt warm and comfortable, like a sigh of relief, but...

It wasn't quite the same anymore. As they separated amidst a chorus of whoops and cheers, Hermione decided to chalk it up to nervousness over her public display of affection being photographed. The idea that she could have so quickly fallen out of passion with Ron was not something she wished to examine, at least not today. So she smiled and wrapped her hand around the arm he offered, following as he drew her to the side.

"So, um, how's training been—"

Hermione's attempt to set things back to normal between herself and Ron was interrupted when the people in attendance seemed to gasp as one, then go eerily quiet. Looking around, Hermione saw that Harry had dropped to one knee in front of Ginny. Good—she'd been right, then, and all the trouble they'd gone to this week was not in vain.

"Is this the moment, then?" Ron whispered teasingly into Hermione's ear, and she grinned as she vaguely remembered Harry saying something to that effect when she'd leapt on Ron in the hallway at Hogwarts.

"He didn't waste much time," Hermione whispered back. "I figured he'd at least wait until after luncheon."

"Nah, you know Harry. He didn't want all the attention to be on him just because it's his birthday—at least this way most everyone will be talking to Ginny instead."

"You're okay with this, then?" Hermione gestured to their best friend as he looked adoringly up at Ron's little sister.

"Well, I wish he'd only snog her when I wasn't around, or not snog her at all, actually, but yeah," Ron replied. "Harry's always been family, this just makes it official. And I reckon no one will take better care of her than Harry."

Hermione chuckled but quickly quieted when Harry began to speak. She watched Ginny subtly flick her wand, and suddenly Harry's voice was magnified with the _Sonorus_ charm.

"—reckon I've loved you since I was thirteen, but you were my best mate's sister, so I tried to ignore it. Then you came blazing up to me after Quidditch, full of life, and kissed me, and there was no ignoring it from that day on. All last year, I watched your dot on my map, hoping you were alright. Thoughts of you were all that were keeping me sane. I'm not perfect—I'm not The Boy Who Lived, not really; I'm just Harry. I never graduated school and my house is really musty and people are always going to gawk at me, but I'm offering you my whole heart. You're the reason I'm here, you're the reason I fought so hard, you're the reason I knew I had to win. You're everything to me, Ginny Weasley, and it would be my honor to love and cherish you for the rest of our lives, if you'll have me."

Hermione blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to avoid crying and ruining her carefully crafted make-up. She wasn't the only one, either—Mrs. Weasley was sniffling happily into a handkerchief, and all around her people were dabbing at their eyes and grinning broadly.

"Are you quite done?" Ginny asked, smiling and placing her hands on Harry's shoulders. "Of course I'll marry you, Harry Potter. It would be _my _honor."

Harry grabbed Ginny's hand and slid a ring on her finger before jumping up and kissing her again. "Oy!" Ron grumbled good-naturedly from beside Hermione. She suspected this was the most joyous Harry had felt in his whole life, and she clapped as enthusiastically as the others as the two lovebirds turned to face the crowd and raise their joined hands in the air. The savior of the Wizarding world getting married to his school-days sweetheart would be fodder for the newspapers for _months_, and Hermione couldn't think of a better way to show everyone that things were truly headed in a better direction now.

Friends and family surged forward to congratulate the newly engaged couple, but Ron and Hermione hung back by unspoken agreement. Hermione knew they'd have ample opportunity to celebrate with the pair later, so she tugged Ron toward the now-deserted refreshment table.

"You're brilliant," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of treacle tart. Hermione smiled as she poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice. She was just taking a sip when Rondo Romples, the reporter, leapt out of the nearby shrubbery and shoved his camera in her face. She was so startled that she dribbled her juice all over her brand-new dress. Just minutes ago, Rondo had been hiding behind a tree clear on the opposite side of the yard. How had he made it over here so quickly and without her noticing?

"Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley! Our readers want to know—are there wedding bells in _your _future, too? Perhaps a joint wedding with the just-engaged darlings of the Wizarding world?"

Without a word, Ron reached out and smashed Rondo's camera to the ground, stomping on it for good measure. The commotion had caught the attention of Bill, Fleur, and Kingsley, and together with Ron they quickly and effortlessly carried Rondo outside the Burrow's walled garden, depositing him none-too-gently on the other side. Bill and Kingsley cast a number of protective enchantments, and Hermione watched, amused, as Rondo attempted to re-enter the party unsuccessfully.

" 'Ere, 'Ermione, let me clean zat speel," Fleur offered, _Tergeo_ing the pumpkin juice delicately out of Hermione's robes. Hermione murmured her genuine thanks, as she doubted that she had the necessary deliberateness for cleaning specialty items like her dress. Fleur was a master, however, and when she was done the dress looked as good as new.

"Right. Glad that's sorted," Ron announced as the men returned.

"Was it necessary to destroy his camera, though?" Hermione asked, tsking a bit.

"You heard him. We're darlings of the Wizarding world. Who's going to judge me?" Ron replied with his customary grin.

"You're incorrigible," Hermione said affectionately.

"That's why you love—er, that's what you like about me." Ron wouldn't meet her eyes, and Hermione sighed. She knew it would take them a bit of time to adjust to their new situation, but it was still hard. She wanted their easy relationship back—their easy _friendship _back.

Squeezing him on the arm, she said, "Thank you for saving me from Rondo."

A corner of Ron's mouth quirked upwards. "Figure it's the least I can do, as you've saved me more times than I can keep track of."

They smiled at each other, years of scrapes and adventures lying silently between them. Thankfully, Luna approached before things could become too maudlin.

"Hello, Ron, Hermione. Is someone going to bring out the engagement cake, or should we just eat the birthday cake? Father always says it's rude to assume that the food set out at a party is the correct food, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seem busy and I didn't want to ask them."

"The birthday cake's fine, Luna." Hermione and Ron shared another smile, and as Ron and Luna began to debate the merits of various types of frosting, Hermione found herself drifting over to stand beside Kingsley. He was talking to a handful of witches and wizards all similarly attired in bright purple robes, and Hermione surmised they were Ministry employees. Trying to hide her scowl, she stepped close enough to hear their conversation.

"—don't understand why she wouldn't—"

"—not a matter of NEWTs—"

"—think we ought to leave that decision up to her—"

Just then, Kingsley noticed her and beckoned her forward, his soothing smile making her feel instantly more at ease. "Hermione. Just the person we were talking about."

"You were talking about me?" Hermione's voice emerged as more of a squeak than she would like, but she was surprised.

"As it happens, Blane here was hoping to have a word with you about your career path," Kingsley explained, indicating a short woman with a no-nonsense blunt haircut and perfectly manicured nails.

"Constance Blane, Miss Granger; I work in the Department of Mysteries." She thrust her hand out and Hermione shook it, still a little on her guard. After the past several years, Hermione didn't place much faith in Ministry employees.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Blane?" Hermione asked politely.

"You can come to work for us," Constance replied immediately.

"I—what?"

"We need clever minds like yours in the Unspeak—in our department," Constance quickly amended. "Kingsley tells me you're the one who used the _Protean_ charm on the Galleons in school?"

Hermione nodded mutely. Mr. Weasley had mentioned the Ministry Galleon experiment to her, but she had hardly imagined that her name was attached to it. Glancing around, she noted that all of the purple-clad adults were watching her intently. Nervous, she returned her attention to Constance Blane.

"Well, between you and me, the prototype is coming along nicely, and we expect that all Ministry officials will soon carry the personal communication Galleons. Ingenious, really ingenious. We're always keeping an eye out for promising talent, and your OWL scores put you on our radar years ago." Constance eyed Hermione before continuing, "Kingsley tells me that you plan to return to Hogwarts to finish your education. I'm sure by now you must realize that NEWT scores are not a hindrance to your finding rewarding employment in the Wizarding world, and I would like to formally offer you a position within our department."

Speechless, Hermione drew a deep breath while she composed her thoughts. A job with the Ministry of Magic? It would be prestigious, certainly; then again, she knew the Ministry was a bit desperate for decent employees after cleaning house following Voldemort's downfall. Constance and the others continued to stare at her expectantly, and Hermione began to feel like the odd specimens currently on display in her new teaching quarters.

Thankfully, the thought of her rooms at Hogwarts reminded her that her answer was actually quite simple. "I appreciate the offer, but as it happens I've already accepted a position at Hogwarts."

"A _temporary_ position," Constance pointed out. Hermione wasn't sure whether she liked the woman's straightforward manner or not.

Bristling slightly, Hermione replied, "Regardless, I've signed my contract and will be returning to school—at least for this year. Thank you again for the offer, however." Her last words were a bit stiff, but Hermione couldn't dredge up much remorse for that fact.

Kingsley stepped in and dissipated the tension with a booming laugh. "I'm sure Blane's department will still need you in a year, Hermione, if you've the inclination. In the meantime, I'm just glad I'm not one of your students—I must admit my grades were never top of the class while I was at Hogwarts."

Hermione shot Kingsley a relieved smile and excused herself from the group, finally making her way over to where Harry and Ginny stood with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Congratulations, you two," Hermione said, enveloping them both in a hug.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, grinning at her.

"And thank you for making sure I was dressed properly," Ginny added.

"She knew I was going to propose somehow, didn't she?" Harry pretended to be affronted, but Hermione could tell he had expected nothing less from his clever fiancée.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Harry Potter," Hermione said loftily, resolutely keeping her eyes away from Ginny's face. She knew if they looked at each other just now, they'd both end up laughing and giving the game away. "All I asked was that Ginny make me look presentable for the party, and then I returned the favor."

"You two are far beyond 'presentable' and you know it, but I'll let it drop," Harry laughed.

"Let me see your ring!" Hermione turned to Ginny, and the two spent the next several minutes oohing and aahing over the massive peridot nestled amid the twirling gold bands.

"I would have thought you'd pick a ruby, for Gryffindor," Hermione mused out loud.

"Wizarding engagement rings usually go by birthstone," Ginny explained.

"Luckily I remembered that while we were at the jeweler's." Ron joined the group and thumped Harry on the back. "Harry here would've bought you some awful sapphire."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You do realize that my birthday is in September, and the stone is a sapp—"

Ron held his hands up in mock surrender. "Only teasing, Hermione!"

She stuck her tongue out at him and stepped back as another group came over to congratulate the couple. It seemed that word of Harry and Ginny's engagement had spread, because the milling crowd appeared to have doubled in size from when the girls had exited the Burrow not an hour ago. Most likely, Rondo had scurried back to the _Prophet _headquarters and published a mid-day special edition. A satisfied smirk bloomed on her features as she remembered Ron smashing Rondo's camera to the ground. At least now Xenophilius Lovegood would have exclusive photos of the famous couple's engagement, and perhaps the sales of _The Quibbler_ would help finance some of the repairs to their house. Looking out across the gathering crowd, Hermione smiled and nodded at the various familiar faces dotting the Weasley lawn. Then through a gap in the horde, Hermione saw the most unexpected guest of them all.

Severus Snape stood stiffly in the middle of the partygoers, his black eyes piercing as he glared at Hermione. She froze in place, gaping, as blood rolled lazily down his throat and over his robes. A deep crimson pool was widening around his feet. Yet somehow, no one else seemed to notice him; the people walking to greet their friends just appeared to swerve around him as he stood there, looking at her, imposing as ever.

Perhaps even more imposing than ever, seeing as he was clearly dead.

Hermione shook her head, wondering if she'd dozed off somehow, but the rustle of her dress and the chatter from the other party guests showed her that she was definitely awake. Then her professor moved, one long, rotting finger coming up to tap against his wrist in a universal gesture that did not require words for Hermione to understand: _You're running out of time._

She fainted.

* * *

**A/N: And here lies the end of the pre-written chappies. So sorry. The good news is that now we can get back to Hogwarts! **

**Thanks to Jemmenuie, WeasleySeeker, and katie9635 for beta reading this chapter. ****As always, I am not JK Rowling and make no claims to own Harry Potter. *sad face***


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